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THE 

WILLIAM  R.  PERKINS 

LIBRARY 

OF 
DUKE  UNIVERSITY 


Rare  Books 


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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2011  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


http://www.archive.org/details/americanbookofbe01lady 


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DM  IF  »EMTY 


TOKKN  ©F  FiStlSBSHBP, 


A  GIFT  FOR  ALL  SEASONS. 


To  weep  o'er  hours  departed 
When  lift  has  lost  its  bloom, 

To  wither,  broken  hearted, 
May  such  ne'er  be  thy  doom. 


EDITED  BY  A  LADY. 


1 


HARTFORD: 
SILAS  ANDRUS  AND  SON. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE. 

To  Mrs.  Henry  Baldwin,  by  J.  F.  P .5 

The  May  Queen 6 

The  German  Bandit,  by  Lt.  Sr-ARKS,  U.  S.  N 7 

To  Miss  Adelia  Hoyt 16 

The  Minister's  Daughter,  by  Miss  Tynpal 17 

The  Emperor  and  the  Alcliyiiii^i.  from  the  German 26 

On  the  Portrait  of  Miss  Tyndal 32 

The  Devil's  Hollow,  an  incident  of  real  life 33 

Envy  and  Candor,  a  dialogue  between  two  young  ladies         .         .         .         .38 

Mary  Escars 40 

The  Coquette,  by  Miss  Lucy  E.  Milnor 41 

The  Yankee  Schoolmaster,  by  J.  K.  Paulding 50 

The  Emperor's  Daughter 56 

The  Stout  Gentleman,  a  story  of  an  omnibus-driver 57 

Sonnet  to  Miss  K.'s  Lap-dog •  .         .65 

Isa,  a  tale  of  Khorassan .66 

A  Mother's  Love 72 

The  Resurrectionists,  by  an  assistant  undertaker 73 

The  Unhappy  Union 82 

Different  Ideas  of  Beauty 85 

Woman's  Influence 87 

Selfishness 87 

The  Siren— Bird  of  the  Gentle  Wing 88 

The  Unknown  Student,  an  historical  sketch  of  Bohemia     ....         89 

The  Witches'  Wash-basin,  by  J.  Catherwood,  M.  D 92 

The  Young  Lady  and  the  Wife 94 

May-day  Morning 96 

The  Betrothed,  by  A.  R.  Cleveland,  A.  M 97 

Danglers 121 

The  Rat  Tower •    124 

Good  Night 128 


EMBELLISHMENTS 


THE  MAY  QUEEN FuOHtisnBcs! 

MRS.  HEXRY  BALDWIN  AND  CHILD    •  .        .        .     facing  page      5 

MISS  ADELIA  HOYT .  "        «         16 

MISS  CAROLINE  HARRIETTE  TYNDAL  32 

TO  MISS  MARY  ESCARS «        «        40 

THE  EMPEROR'S  DAUGHTER 56 

MISS  KETCHUM,  OF  BOSTON «        "        15 

MRS.  COSTER  AND  DAUGHTER 72 

THE  SIREN— BIRD  OF  THE  GENTLE  WING 

MAY-DAY  MORNING «        «       M 

GOOD  NIGHT «        "      128 


•*' 


if 

0 


J     '  .'• 


AMERICAN 


BEAUTY. 


TO    MRS.    HENRY  "BALDWIN 

by  j.  e.  p. 

'Tie  sweet  to  bend  us  o'er  the  angelic  forma 
Vision'd  by  Fancy ;  but  'tis  sweeter  far 
To  lift  our  eyes  from  her  enchanting  page. 
And  gaze  upon  the  bright  realities 
Of  living  loveliness.     Who  feels  not  this, 
"Would  be  enamored  of  a  mimic  flower 
In  the  rich  presence  of  the  breathing  rose. 

Thou,  Lady,  whom  the  tributary  Arts 
Have  placed  before  us,  freshly,  as  the  dew 
Of  life  were  on  thee,  art  of  mortal  mould ; 
And  yet  so  fair  —  so  chastely,  simply  fair  — 
80  softly  beaming  with  ethereal  grace, 
That  Poesy  might  almost  name  thee — hers. 
Who  that  beholds  thy  noble  mien  need  ask  — 
Where  are  thy  jewels  ? — where  the  orient  pearls 
That  braid  the  hair,  the  glittering  chains  that  tell 
Of  rich  possessions,  and  of  courtly  rank  ? 

Like  the  proud  Eoman  matron  —  thy  jewels  are  thy  children. 
And  thou  hast  that  —  the  noblest  of  all  titles  — 
Which,  hadst  thou  not,  no  princely  breath  could  give. 
Which  having,  monarchs  might  in  vain  aspire 
More  to  ennoble  thee  :  "  The  young  —  the  fair  — 
The  faultless  Mother,  and  the  blameless  Wife  " 


THE    MAY    QUEEN. 

Who  shall  be  Queen  of  merry  May? 
— The  Spring  laughs  out  from  op'ning  flowers, 
The  Rainbow's  smile  hath  wreathed  the  showers, 
Till  every  drop  a  gem  is  seen 
On  nature's  robe  o&fairy  green. 
The  birds,  like  minstrels  from  the  skies, 
Pour  forth  the  strains  of  Paradise, 
And  the  free  waters  leap  and  play, 
Like  children  on  this  holiday, 

Hailing  the  Queen  of  May. 

Who  shall  be  Queen  of  glorious  May? 
— The  maid  whose  cheek  with  health  is  bright, 
As  peach-flowers  bathed  in  morning  light, 
Whose  gentle  eye  in  love  looks  forth, 
To  bless  the  loveliness  of  earth, 
Whose  sweet,  glad  voice  is  blithest  heard, 
Like  carol  of  the  fledgling  bird, 
In  answer  to  her  parents'  care, 
When  found  some  joy  that  they  can  share — 

She  shall  be  Queen  of  May. 


•  ■ 


THE    GERMAN    BANDIT. 

BT  LIEUT.   SPARKS,  U.  B.  N. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  year  1813,  I  chanced  to  be  carried  to 
England,  a  prisoner  of  war,  in  the  then  existing  struggle  between 
that  government  and  the  United  States.  One  of  my  maternal  uncles 
being  a  Liverpool  merchant  of  some  influence,  through  his  exertions 
I  was  immediately  liberated  on  parole,  not  to  depart  the  British  do- 
minions. It  was  about  this  time  that  the  kingdom  of  Hanover  was 
restored  to  Great  Britain  ;  and  among  other  tours  of  pleasure  project- 
ed by  my  English  friends,  was  one  to  this  dependency  of  the  British 
crown. 

At  this  period,  the  prison  of  Hanover  occupied  a  plot  of  ground 
contiguous  to  the  gate,  which  opens  upon  the  noble  alley  conducting 
to  the  country  palaces  of  Hernhausen  and  Montbrillant.  Its  walls 
were  partially  washed  by  the  river  Labn,  which  impetuously  hurries 
beneath  the  adjoining  bridges.  It  was  a  strong  and  compact  edifice, 
sombre  and  simple,  as  became  its  destination. 

Frequently  upon  returning  from  riding  and  walking  in  the  fine  moon- 
lit evenings,  a  voice  of  exceeding  harmony  and  expression,  issuing 
from  this  abode  of  crime  and  wo,  attracted  my  attention.  When 
first  these  soft  and  mellow  notes  fell  sweetly  on  my  ear,  I  ascribed 
them  to  the  jailer's  daughter  —  a  dark-eyed,  beauteous  girl,  who.  like 
the  flowers  that  gayly  flaunted  outside  the  prison-porch,  formed  a 
strange  contrast  to  the  hideousness  within.  This,  however,  I  discov- 
ered, upon  near  approach,  was  not  the  case.  The  minstrel  was  evi- 
dently a  man — some  unhappy  wretch — probably  inhaling  the  refresh- 
ing breezes  as  they  fluttered  round  the  massive  gratings  of  his  cell, 
and  striving  to  drown  the  miseries  of  his  soul  or  the  terrors  of  his 
conscience  by  singing  in  cadence  to  his  chains. 

The  voice  was  so  exquisitely  melodious,  so  rich,  and  evidently  well 
utored,  that  I  pic^n:exl-4£iu4iiy^dX_s^meHUifj^tunate  artist  incarcerated 


V 


8  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

for  debt,  or,  perhaps,  some  hot-brained  political  offender  of  higher 
education.  Here  again  I  was  mistaken.  The  singer  was  a  murder- 
er—  an  incendiary  j  a  man  branded  with  a  thousand  atrocities;  a 
bandit  chief,  a  species  of  German  Fra  Diavolo,  who  had  long  deso- 
lated several  neighboring  states.  A  hundred  times  he  had  escaped, 
as  if  by  miracle,  from  perils  and  prisons.  No  less  often  had  he  been 
acquitted  of  the  most  heinous  crimes  by  proving  alibis,  or  from  want 
of  evidence.  At  length  he  had  been  captured  on  suspicion  of  having 
robbed  and  murdered  a  royal  forester,  and  now  awaited  the  last  award 
of  the  tribunals. 

Upon  the  restoration  of  legitimate  government  in  Hanover,  civil 
and  criminal  jurisprudence  resumed  its  former  course.  The  old  Ro- 
man and  Caroline  codes,  which  had  been  abrogated  during  the  French 
occupation  of  Westphalia,  at  least  as  regards  their  application  in  some 
points,  were  revived.  Among  these  the  necessity  of  confession  to 
enable  sAnmary  punishment  to  be  inflicted  upon  criminals,  where  di- 
rect testimony  was  wanting  to  establish  guilt.  It  is  necessary  to 
mention  this  to  account  for  what  follows. 

Being  seated  one  day  at  table  near  a  councillor  of  the  Supreme 
Court,  our  conversation  chanced  to  fall  upon  music,  and  thence  led 
to  the  malefactor,  whose  musical  talents  I  criticised  with  some  warmth. 
After  moralizing  upon  the  contrasts  that  oftentimes  occur  between  the 
bounteous  gifts  of  nature  to  man,  and  the  devilish  purposes  to  which 
he  converts  them,  my  learned  neighbor  continued  :  "  It  will  be  my 
painful  duty  this  night  to  put  that  man's  daring  courage  to  the  test.  If 
he  succumbs,  death  will  be  his  doom ;  if  he  resists,  his  punishment 
will  be  perpetual  imprisonment ;  but  he  is  so  marvellously  expert, 
strong,  and  enduring,  his  accomplices,  both  male  and  female,  are  so 
numerous,  that  I  know  of  no  prison  that  can  retain  him.  Bars, 
chains,  and  stone  walls,  have  hitherto  yielded  to  his  touch  as  though 
they  were  cobwebs.  He  passes  for  having  a  charmed  life.  In  truth, 
his  escapes  and  adventures  might  warrant  one  in  supposing  that  the 
darker  powers  had  taken  him  under  their  protection." 

"  Until  he  is  delivered  over  by  them  to  more  terrible  retribution 
than  can  be  inflicted  by  human  hands,"  answered  I  "  But  you  said 
that  you  were  about  to  put  his  firmness  to  the  test — explain,  I  beg, 
your  meaning." 


THE    GERMAN"    BANDIT.  9 

"  He  has  been  tried  patiently,"  replied  the  judge,  "  we  have  had 
abundant  circumstantial  evidence,  but  no  direct  testimony.  In  order, 
therefore,  to  inflict  death,  we  must  have  confession,  and,  as  the  old 
laws  enjoin  the  application  of  the  Question " 

"  The  Question !"  retorted  I,  interrupting  him,  "  the  torture !  and 
this  under  the  British  government  ?" 

"  You  mistake,"  rejoined  the  judge.  "  We  are  not  under  the  British 
government.  That  government  has  no  more  control  over  our  laws 
than  it  has  over  those  of  Denmark." 

"  But  the  crown — the  prince  governor — whose  soul  would  ring 
with  horror  at  the  revival -of  this  barbarous  practice;  can  not  one  or 
other  interfere  ?" 

"  All  acts  of  grace  rest  with  the  crown  after  condemnation,  but  it 
can  not  anticipate  judgment,"  answered  the  judge.  "  Our  old  laws, 
until  abrogated  or  modified,  as  they  will  be  shortly,  are  imperative. 
The  prince  is  the  first  servant  of  the  laws  ;  he  can  not  interpose  or 
anticipate  justice  ;  he  must  steel  his  generous  heart  against  all  softer 
sentiments  in  the  face  of  this  stern  duty.  Besides,"  added  the  coun- 
cillor, "  this  wretch  merits  no  compassion.  The  catalogue  of  his 
abomination  is  countless." 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  repeat  the  remainder  of  a  conversation, 
during  which  my  learned  neighbor  proved  only  two  things  to  my  satis- 
faction ;  namely,  that  it  was  utterly  out  of  my  good  and  benevolent 
master's  power  to  avert  the  prisoner's  sufferings  ;  and  that  this  would 
probably  be  the  last  time  of  enforcing  the  barbarous  practice.* 

Strange  to  say,  I  was  at  first  seized  with  a  morbid  curiosity  to  wit- 
ness this  terrible  operation,  and  obtained  the  judge's  permission  for 
that  purpose.  Subsequent  consideration,  however,  induced  me  to  ab- 
stain ;  but  I  was  agitated  the  whole  of  that  night  with  horrible  dreams. 
Hacks  and  instruments  of  torture,  such  as  I  had  read  of  in  books, 
moved  around  me.  Stifled  groans  and  shrill  screams  thrilled  upon 
my  sleeping  ears,  mingled  alternately  with  soft  sounds  of  music.  I. 
awoke  long  before  daylight  with  my  bones  aching  as  though  I  myself 
had  undergone  the  fierce  ordeal.  My  suffering  was  such  that  I  rose, 
opened  the  window,  and  sought  to  refresh  myself  in  the  early  morn- 

•  It  is  almost  needless  to  obseryeHhat  the  modifications  alluded  to  were  effect- 
ed as  speedily  as  possible,  and/that  the  application  of  the  Question  was  abolished. 


10  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

jng  breeze.  Scarcely  had  I  done  this,  ere  the  different  city  clocks 
chimed  four.  Their  heavy  droning  echo  had  not  yet  died  away,  ere  I 
heard  the  distant  sound  of  a  Tyrolean  air,  warbled  as  none  could  war- 
ble but  the  bandit.  I  listened  again.  The  sounds,  rising  above  the 
stillness  of  the  night,  came  from  the  neighboring  prison,  wafted  by  a 
gentle  breeze  ;  there  coidd  be  no  error.  It  was  evident  that  the  appli- 
cation of  the  Question  had  been  postponed,  and  that  the  wretch  was 
still  ignorant  of  the  sufferings  that  awaited  him. 

In  this  I  was  deceived.  The  law  had  taken  its  course.  The  mode 
and  its  results  shall  be  told  nearly  in  the  words  of  an  eyewitness, 
whose  duty  required  his  presence. 

"  I  proceeded,"  said  my  informant,  "  at  nightfall  to  the  prison,  and 
was  ushered  into  the  apartment  where  the  officers  of  justice  were  as- 
sembled. At  ten,  the  appointed  hour,  the  jailer  entered,  and  bowing 
significantly,  indicated  that  all  was  ready.  A  silence,  .dead  as  that  of 
the  tomb,  reigned  around.  Not  a  breath — not  a  step  was  heard, 
the  sentinels  were  removed  from  the  passages.  The  guardians  and 
executioners  moved  like  noiseless  spectres.  My  heart  throbbed  al- 
most audibly  as  we  followed  our  conductors  through  the  narrow  cor- 
ridors, lighted  only  by  a  faint  glimmering  lantern,  held  before  the  pre- 
siding magistrate.  At  length  we  reached  a  narrow  but  massive  portal. 
Here  there  was  a  pause.  The  jailer  applied  his  ear  to  the  keyhole. 
The  prisoner  slept — I  envied  him  not  his  dreams,  still  less  his  waking 
thoughts.  Thereupon  the  bolts  and  locks  were  cautiously  drawn 
back,  and  the  door  was  thrown  open.  At  this  moment  the  light  of 
three  or  four  dark  lanterns  was  turned  upon  the  recumbent  criminal, 
and  the  executioner's  men  darted  forward  to  perform  their  office. 

"  Aroused  by  the  sudden  light  and  noise,  the  wretch  started  from 
his  straw  pallet,  dazzled  and  confused.  Staring  wildly  around,  he 
raised  his  manacled  hands  to  his  brow,  as  if  to  collect  his  senses, 
gnashed  his  teeth  and  groaned.  In  an  instant  the  officials  darted  upon 
him,  forced  him  upon  his  legs,  tore  his  garments  in  shreds  from  his 
body,  drove  him  naked  against  the  wall,  and  secured  his  chains  so 
tightly  that  neither  hand  nor  foot  could  move.  All  this  occupied  less 
time  than  I  in  narrating  it.* 

•  This  first  degree  of  torture  was  designpigd  (if  our  memory  fail  not)  the 
ausreissen,  or  stripping  off. 


THE    GERMAN    BANDIT.  11 

"  The  grejfier,  now  stepping  forward,  told  him  that  he  was  to  under- 
go all  stages  of  that  torture  of  which  this  was  the  mere  preface,  and 
besought  him  to  confess.  '  Never  !  never  !  —  a  thousand  times  never ! 
replied  he,  clenching  his  chain-bound  hands  ;  '  though  ye  tear  my  flesh 
as  ye  have  torn  my  rotten  prison  garments  —  never!  I  know  your 
laws  ;  do  your  worst,  I  defy  ye  !'  Remonstrances  and  menaces 
proved  equally  fruitless.  Leaving,  therefore,  the  wretch  in  the  hands 
of  the  headsman  and  his  assistant,  we  withdrew  to  the  vaulted  cham- 
ber prepared  for  the  succeeding  work  of  torture. 

"  We  were  not  long  detained.  In  a  few  minutes  the  prisoner,  over 
whom  a  coarse  watch-coat- was  loosely  thrown,  entered  with  a  firm  and 
dauntless  air.  He  had  recovered  his  self  possession.  First  casting 
his  eye  scornfully  upon  the  implements  of  torture,  he  then  gazed  at  us 
with  a  look  of  utter  defiance.  I  could  not  forbear  admiring  him  at 
this  moment.  He  was  of  middling  size,  blue-eyed  and  fair.  His 
light  hair  hung  in  flowing  curls  over  his  shoulders.  His  figure  was 
slight  but  sinewy,  and  his  frame  admirably  proportioned.  You  might 
have  expected  a  heart  so  hideous  to  have  been  enclosed  within  an  un- 
sightly envelope ;  but  the  man  who  stood  before  us  was  comely  and 
well  favored  as  a  young  Antinous. 

"  I  had  no  further  time  for  consideration.  The  greffier,  after  read- 
ing an  extract  from  the  law  and  the  judge's  sentence,  pointed  to  the 
instruments  of  torture,  and  urged  him  to  avoid  their  agony  by  confes- 
sion. The  only  reply  he  made  was  a  scornful  smile  as  he  stretched 
forth  his  hands  to  the  executioner. 

"  A  nod  was  given  by  the  chief  official ;  in  a  moment  his  manacles 
and  leg-irons  were  removed,  and  he  was  forced  to  the  side  of  the 
wall,  against  which  a  ladder  Avas  reared.*  This  he  was  compelled 
to  mount  backward ;  his  wrists  were  then  fastened  with  cords,  about 
three  feet  long,  to  the  topmost  bar,  and  heavy  weights  were  attached 
to  his  ankles.  Another  nod  was  given  ;  his  feet  were  then  thrust  from 
their  resting-place,  and  his  body  dropped  and  swung  suspended  by  the 
wrists.  These  and  his  shoulders  were  dislocated,  or  nearly  so ;  T 
heard  the  sinews  crack,  and  had  nigh  fainted  at  the  sight. 

"  No  sooner  was  this  accomplished,  than  the  assistants  sprang  for- 
ward, lowered  the  ladder,  and  would  have  placed  him  on  his  back ; 

•  This  was,  we  think,  denominated  "The  Spanish  ladder." 


12  AMERICAN    BOOK    OF    BEA I 

but,  agile  as  a  leopard,  he  sprang  up,  laughed  a  hideous  laugh,  and, 
crossing  his  arms,  exhibited  no  other  signs  of  pain  than  extended  nos- 
trils and  collapsed  jaws.  The  surgeons  forthwith  came  to  his  aid. 
bandaged  his  wrists,  embrocated  his  shoulders,  gave  him  water 
to  drink,  and  then,  throwing  a  cloak  over  him,  left  him  to  repose. 

•  •  Your  mercy  is  more  galling  than  your  torture,'  exclaimed  he, 
a  short  pause.     '  Ye  may  crush  my  fragile  bones,  but  ye  can  not 
bend  my  iron  spirit !     To  your  work,  then — devils!'     Again  the  ma- 
gistrates admonished  and  urged  him  to  confess,  but  he  defied  them  with 
sneers  and  oaths. 

"  It  would  be  painful  were  I  to  describe  minutely  the  two  next  de- 
grees of  torture,"  continued  my  informant ;  "  suffice  it  to  say,  that  the 
first  consisted  in  twisting  leathern  ligatures  tightly  round  the  arms  and 
thighs,  and  then  smiting  the  intervening  swollen  parts  with  rods,  each 
stroke  of  which  caused  the  most  acute  suffering.*  The  second  con- 
sisted in  a  pair  of  high  boots  of  hard  leather,  somewhat  like  those 
of  French  postillions.  The  legs  were  inserted  in  these ;  wedges 
were  then  introduced  and  driven  down,  until  the  flesh  was  miserably 
bruised.  During  these  operations,  not  a  sigh  or  groan  escaped  him  ; 
his  heaving  bosom  alone  disclosed  his  physical  suffering. 

"  The  magistrates  inwardly  revolted  at  witnessing  this  scene,  looked 
at  one  another,  and  would  fain  have  abandoned  all  further  attempts  to 
extract  confession  ;  but  the  law  was  imperative,  and  as  the  criminal 
evinced  no  signs  of  weakness,  it  was  resolved  that  the  last  degree 
should  be  applied. 

"  This  was  the  most  terrible  of  all.  Imagine  a  wooden  bench,  or 
trough,  surmounted  by  three  or  four  rollers,  moved  by  mechanism, 
somewhat  in  the  form  of  a  mangle  ;  then  conceive  the  patient's  body 
placed  within  this,  and  the  rollers  repeatedly  and  slowly  passing  back 
ward  and  forward  over  his  chest  and  limbs,  pressing  or  crushing  them, 
as  an  iron  roller  presses  the  elastic  sward. "t 

"  Horrible  !  horrible  !"  exclaimed  I. 

"  And  yet  he  bore  this  also  with  unflinching  firmness,  until,  at  last, 
nature  gave  way,  and  he  fainted.     The  surgeons  again  did  their  duty ; 

*  This,  as  well  as  we  can  recollect,  was  called  "  The  Flemish  drum." 
t  These  were  denominated  (to  the  best  of  our  recollection)  "  The  devil's 
boot,"  and  "The  crushing  bench."-  . 


THE    GERMAN    BAXDIT.  13 

restoratives  were  applied,  and  he  recovered.  But,  as  confession  could 
not  be  extracted,  nothing  remained  but  to  perform  the  last  operation, 
and  to  lead  him  back  to  his  cell." 

"  The  last !"  answered  I ;  "  surely  the  wretch  could  not  endure 
further  trials  ?" 

"Listen!"  replied  my  informant.  "When  the  Question  fails  to 
extract  confession,  and  the  patient  has  gone  through  the  last  degree,  it 
is  ordained  that  he  shall  be  completely  shaven  from  head  to  foot,  the 
staff  of  moral  life  broken  over  him,  and  that  he  shall  be  carried  forth, 
if  possible,  upon  the  following  day  to  the  public  square,  and  there  ex- 
posed and  branded  previous  to  perpetual  incarceration.  The  first  por- 
tion of  this  ceremony,  let  me  observe,  is  regarded  as  the  most  igno- 
minious and  degrading  that  can  befall  a  malefactor.  Indeed,  a  super- 
stitious dread  attends  it ;  for  a  belief  exists  among  them  that  he  who 
may  be  thus  treated  can  not  escape  a  lingering  and  miserable  death  on 
earth,  nor  the  most  dreadful  and  prolonged  punishments  hereafter. 

"  The  assistants  were  on  the  point  of  carrying  this  into  effect,  when, 
to  our  surprise,  the  bandit  started  back,  and  exclaimed,  '  Pain  I  can 
support,  more  than  ye  have  hearts  or  power  to  inflict  —  but  not  degra- 
dation. Never  shall  it  be  said'  that  Hans  the  headsman  performed 
the  barber's  duty  !  I  have  my  honor  as  well  as  you !  Away,  then, 
with  your  accursed  razors!  Give  me  a  bottle  of  cool  wine  —  my 
body  is  scorched  ;  then  lead  me  to  my  cell,  and  to-morrow  I  will  con- 
fess all.' 

"  Our  astonishment  was  profound.  The  dread  of  moral  degrada- 
.  tion  having  proved  more  powerful  than  that  of  bodily  suffering,  we 
regretted  that  we  had  not  been  permitted  to  invert  the  order  of  inflic- 
tion. It  would  have  spared  us  the  fulfilment  of  an  agonizing  duty.  A 
short  conference  now  took  place  between  the  judges,  after  which  the 
executioners  were  dismissed.  Stimulants  were  forthwith  administer- 
ed to  the  culprit ;  his  limbs  and  body  were  carefully  attended  to  ;  he 
was  reclothed,  conducted  to  his  cell,  and  left  to  repose.  The  magis- 
trates then  departed,  leaving  me  and  the  greffier  to  draw  up  a  detailed 
report  of  the  proceeding.  At  length,  having  accomplished  our  task, 
we  sallied  forth  and  returned  on  foot  toward  our  homes. 

"  It  was  exactly  half-past  two  when  we  quitted  the  prison  —  I  men- 
tion time,  since  it  more  strongly  marks  the  features  of  this  strange 


14  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

catastrophe  Our  road  led  across  the  bridge,  which  connects  the  two 
portions  of  the  city.  Being  feverish,  and  little  disposed  to  sleep,  we 
leaned  upon  the  balustrade,  discussing  the  past  scene.  Many  seconds 
had  not  elapsed,  however,  ere  we  heard  the  splashing  of  some  person, 
or  animal,  in  the  water  beneath.  The  darkness  was  so  profound  that 
we  could  not  distinguish  objects  ten  paces  distant ;  but  ere  long,  a 
voice  calling  for  succor  was  distinctly  audible,  and,  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, three  or  four  figures  rushed  by  us  and  vanished  in  the  shade.  I 
and  my  companions  having  given  the  alarm,  soldiers  and  watchmen 
hurried  to  the  spot.  Lights  were  procured,  search  was  made,  and  ere 
long  we  discovered  the  bandit,  immersed  up  to  his  chest  in  the  stream, 
and  clinging  to  one  of  the  iron  stanchions  affixed  to  the  prison  walls. 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  he  was  secured,  reconducted  to  the  jail,  and 
placed,  doubly  ironed,  in  another  cell,  whence  all  issue  was  impracti- 
cable. 

"  His  escape  from  his  previous  place  of  confinement  was  no  less 
surprising  than  his  recapture.  On  the  one  hand,  the  iron  bars  of  his 
dungeon  were  of  extraordinary  thickness,  and  the  aperture  so  small 
as  to  render  escape  by  that  means  apparently  impossible.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  waters  of  the  Lahn,  although  rapid,  were  shallow,  and 
he  might  have  waded  across  without  the  slightest  peril.  Once  upon 
the  bank,  he  might  have  baffled  all  pursuit. 

"The  account  he  gave  of  both  was  brief  and  almost  inexplicable. 
'  I  was  possessed  of  files  and  other  tools,'  said  he  ;  '  how  I  came  by 
them  ye  shall  never  know.  No  sooner  was  I  released  from  your  vile 
tortures  than  I  set  to  work.  The  rusty  bars  soon  yielded  to  my  efforts. 
The  cover  of  my  mattress  served  me  for  a  rope  ;  my  head  is  small, 
my  body  pliable  as  leather  —  I  could  pass  through  a  needle's  eye. 
But  driveller  as  I  am,'  he  exclaimed,  with  a  contemptuous  shrug  of 
the  shoulders,  '  although  liberty  was  within  my  grasp,  and  friends 
awaited  me,  no  sooner  did  I  touch  the  accursed  waters  than  my  limbs 
seemed  paralyzed.  Yes !  I,  whom  no  torments,  no  anguish  could 
hitherto  daunt  —  I  was  seized  with  womanish  dread  of  being  drowned  ! 
You  know  the  rest.'  Then  gloomily  adding,  '  It  was  foredoomed  ! — 
Maledictions  upon  the  sorceress,  who  told  my  fortunes  when  I  was 
yet  a  boy  ;  —  she  warned  me  of  the  waters.'     He  then  relapsed  into 


THE    GERMAN    BANDIT.     .  15 

silence,  and  we  could  obtain  nothing  more  from  him  than  an  assurance 
that  his  confession  should  be  made,  as  he  had  promised. 

"  The  shades  of  night  had  already  yielded  to  the  faint  glimmerings 
of  rising  dawn,  when  I  issued  from  the  prison.  I  therefore  lost  no 
time  in  seeking  a  short  repose,  it  being  my  duty  to  attend  in  the  course 
of  four  hours  to  hear  the  confession." 

"  The  wondrous  alternations  of  fortitude,  superstition,  pusillanimity, 
and  levity,  exhibited  by  this  man  exceeds  all  belief,"  observed  I,  in- 
terrupting the  narrator.  "  Within  half  an  hour  of  the  time  you  men- 
tion, I  heard  him  carolling  as  merrily  as  if  he  had  regained  his  free- 
dom." 

"  You  will  be  more  surprised  at  the  contradictions  in  his  character 
when  you  hear  the  sequel,"  answered  my  friend.  "  Listen.  The  ma- 
gistrates having  again  assembled  at  an  early  hour  in  the  prison  coun- 
cil-chamber, orders  were  given  to  introduce  the  bandit.  Scarcely, 
however,  had  this  occurred,  ere  a  turnkey  entered  and  announced  his 
death." 

"  Which  was  doubtless  the  result  of  the  tortures  he  had  endured," 
replied  I.  . 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  rejoined  my  friend.  "  Upon  opening  his  cell 
he  was  found  a  lifeless  corpse  ;  but  he  died  by  his  own  hands,  in  the 
full  possession  of  all  his  strength  and  energies.  The  very  means 
which  had  been  adopted  to  secure  his  safe  custody,  were  employed  by 
him  to  escape  from  earthly  bondage ;  he  had  strangled  himself  with 
his  chains.  His  feet  and  body  were  found  in  such  a  position  as  to 
prove  that  he  must  have  exerted  the  utmost  force  and  resolution  to  rob 
the  headsman  of  his  prey." 

Such  was  the  account  given  to  me  by  my  learned  friend.  If  the 
different  details  which  he  related  were  founded  on  fact,  the  reader  will 
be  as  much  embarrassed  as  I  was  to  account  for  the  strange  contrasts 
in  the  character  of  the  (Serman  bandit. 


TO    MISS    ADELIA    HOTT. 

WRITTEN  DURING  HER  LATE  VISIT  TO  PHILADELPHIA 

They  say  thou  hast  a  spell  beyond  the  powers 
Of  "wit  and  beauty  —  that  thine  eloquent  tongue. 
Telling  for  ever  of  the  impassioned  wrong 

Of  thine  own  bosom,  thus  controlleth  ours. 

Then  will  I  ask  not  why  the  sudden  shade 
Is  aye  upon  thy  peerless  beauty  stealing, 
Not  if  thine  eye  be  of  thy  heart  revealing. 

When  on  its  lid  the  pearly  dew  is  stayed 

Enough  for  me,  that,  on  that  spotless  brow. 
In  cloud  or  sunshine,  sit  high-ranging  thought, 
And  conscious  pride,  with  modesty  inwrought, 

Twin  seraphs,  ever  veiling  while  they  glow ! 

Enough  for  me  —  if  not  to  me  denied — 
Thy  mind's  communion:  while  the  better  part, 
Thy  heart — or  the  sad  ruin  of  thy  heart  — 

Rests  with  the  false  one  who  thy  love  belied  ' 


THE   MINISTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

BY  MISS  CAROLINE  HARRIETTS  TTNDAL. 

I  do  not  love  to  speak  tq  many,  of  our  poor  friend  and  early  play- 
mate, the  Minister's  Daughter.  There  is  a  sacrcdness  about  her 
sorrow,  it  has  something  so  almost  mysterious  in  its  dispensations, 
and  is  borne  with  a  fortitude  and  a  resignation  so  saintlike,  that  it 
seems  ever,  to  me,  unfitted  for  ordinary  handling,  and  language  an 
inappropriate  exponent  of  her  mournful  tale.  A  grief  like  Caroline's 
should  have  no  othot  interpreter  than  the  sad  and  solemn  characters 
which  it  has  written  on  her  still  beautiful  brow.  She  never  weeps  — 
at  least  no  one  sees  her  weep  ;  and  her  gentle  voice,  which  from  her 
very  childhood  had  a  tone  of  sadness,  is  heard  by  no  mortal  ears  in  * 
the  language  of  complaint.  What  dirgelike  music  may  be  uttered  in 
the  haunted  depths  of  that  wounded  spirit,  is  known  only  to  herself 
and  the  angels  ;  but  to  the  world,  she  speaks  always  calmly,  and  even 
cheerfully,  at  times.  You,  who  knew  Caroline  through  all  her  young 
days,  will  remember  well  that,  light-hearted  as  that  sweet  child  was, 
there  was  even  then,  at  times,  a  sort  of  shadow  on  her  brow  —  an  air 
of  thought  not  natural,  and  infinitely  touching,  in  one  so  young.  As 
she  grew  toward  womanhood,  the  shadow  became  permanent,  without 
deepening;  and  the  graceful  girl,  with  her  long  fair  hair,  and  some- 
what antique  fashion  of  dress,  gave  us  both  the  impression  of  one 
predestinated  to  suffer. 

"  She  was  of  those  "whose  very  morn 

Gives  some  dark  hint  of  night, 
And  in  her  eye,  too  soon,  was  horn 

A  sad  and  softened  light ; 
And  on  her  hrovr  youth  set  the  seal 

Which  years,  upon  her  hrain 
Confirmed  too  well —  and  they  -who  feel 

May  scarcely  weep  again." 

3 


18  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

Seated,  amid  the  shadows  of  a  summer  evening,  in  the  old  study 
which  her  father  had  fitted  up  as  a  boudoir,  for  her  who  was  all  the 
ire  that  time  had  left  him  —  ministered  to  by  the  breath  of  the 
jasmine  and  the  fragrance  of  the  rose  —  I  have  gazed,  at  times,  on 
the  unconscious  girl,  when,  to  my  excited  imagination,  there  was 
something  almost  apocalyptic  in  her  look,  till,  as  I  stepped  in  upon 
her,  the  spirit  of  prophecy  seemed  lifted  from  her  forehead  before  a 
smile  of  welcome  that  made  her  face  like  the  face  of  an  archangel. 
Oh !  those  happy  days !  for  Caroline  was  happy  then ;  and  the 
seeming  cloud  on  her  brow  (for  it  had  not  yet  reached  her  heart)  was 
but  the  shadow  flung  from  that  approaching  destiny  which  has  since 
alighted.  I  can  not,  therefore,  speak  of  the  Minister's  Daughter  to 
every  one :  but  to  you,  who  knew  and  loved  her  as  I  did  myself,  I 
will,  at  length,  fulfil  the  promise  so  often  made,  and  narrate  the 
incidents  which  finally  darkened  her  spirit,  for  all  the  remainder  of 
its  earthly  pilgrimage. 

The  early  pleasures  and  early  trials  of  the  Minister's  Daughter  are 
as  well  known  to  yourself  as  to  me ;  and  you  remember  well  how 
rich  a  volume  the  sibyl  Hope  presented  to  Caroline,  when  she  first 
emerged  from  childhood.  Year  after  year  tore  away  some  portion  of 
that  charm ;  ..and  the  perished  leaves  but  enhanced  the  value  to  her 
heart  of  those  that  remained.  You  remember  how,  each  after  the 
other,  her  sisters  were  laid  beneath  the  old  trees  in  the  church-yard  ; 
and  the  channels  in  which  her  young  affections  had  been  accustomed  to 
run,  were,  one  by  one,  thrown  back  into  the  deep  well  of  her  spirit,  there 
to  seek  fresh  outlets,  or  make  her  heart  a  waste.  Then,  her  mother, 
weary  with  her  long  separation  from  those  who  were  to  return  to  her 
no  more,  went  forth  to  them — and  was  laid  in  a  grave  by  their  side. 
From  that  day,  Caroline  was  a  child  no  more — at  least,  she  never 
again  looked  like  one :  and  her  father,  the  kind-hearted  minister,  old 
in  heart,  though  in  the  vigor  of  his  years,  had  now  but  herself  to 
remind  him  of  all  that  he  had  lost,  and  inherit  the  accumulated  treas- 
ure of  love  which  had  reverted  to  his  spirit  from  the  cluster  of  graves 
in  the  neighboring  church-yard.  And  then  came  happier  times  to 
Caroline  ;  and  her  heart  found  fresh  issues. 

You  remember  George  P  *  *  *  * — the  playdays  of  the  young 
cousins — their  joint  studies — their  young  attachment — their  mature 


THE    MINISTER'S    DaTGHTEK.  19 

love.     You  were  a  witness  to   the   growth   of  that   hallowed   and 
hallowing  love,  amid  the  fond  and  smiling  approval  of  all  who  had  an 
interest  in  the  youthful  pair      Those  were  Caroline's  sunn 
when  the  memory  of  her  childish  griefs  had  taken  a  tone  in  wh 
indulgence  had  a  charm  for  her  heart,  and  she  seemed,  in  the  bright 
prospect  which  was  opening  up  around  her,  to  have  emerged  from  the 
destiny  that  had  overhung  her  like  a  prophecy  !    Something,  ho1 
of  her  later  sorrows,  I  believe  you  know  ;  for  you  had  not  gon  = 
from  among  us,  when  her  new  and  final  trials  began.    You  remember 
George's  departure  for  the  university,  and  the  rumors  that  ri 
quiet  village,  and  the  hearts  that  loved  him  there,  of  his  surrender  to 
the  temptations  by  which  he  was  surrounded. 

You  saw  the  gradual  coming  up  of  that  cloud,  from  the  day  when 
it  was  "  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand,"  till  it  had  overspread  the  entire 
heaven  of  that  hope  in  which  the  minister  and  his  daughter  had  been 
blest,  and  shut  out  the  sunshine  from  poor  Caroline's  heart.  You 
know  that,  when  George  left  college,  and  flung  himself  into  th<  vortex 
of  New-York  dissipation,  instead  of  returning  to  the  fond  and  forgiving 
hearts  that  awaited  him  at  home,  his  reckless  career  of  e.\i 
had  involved  the  fortunes  and  bowed  down  the  spirit  of  his  father. 
But  the  sequel  of  that  painful  story,  you  know  not-— and  that  I  am 
now  to  relate  to  you. 

It  was  in  Caroline's  boudoir,  and  amid  the  deepening  si, 
an  autumn  eve,  that  the  minister  and  his  daughter  spoke  tog<  ther,  for 
the  last  lime,  of  George  P  *  *  *  *.     The  old  man  had  marl.' 
sufferings  of  his  child,  in  her  pale  and  wasted  cheek ;  and,  in  his 
earnest  desire  for  her  happiness,  and  writh  something  like  a  hop 
the  nobler  qualities  of  her  lover  might  yet  come  out  clear  from  the 
shadows  by  which  they  were,  for  the  moment,  darkened,  had  forborne 
I  to  her  distress,  by  any  comments  on  the  conduct  of  him  to 
whom  she  was  betrothed.     But  the  profligate  student  had  for] 
hat  yearned  toward  him,  amid  all  his  follies;  and  ti 
of  his  excesses  had  reached  the  village,  which  robbed  the  minister 
of  his  last  hope,  and  made  it  incumbent  on  him  to  dissolve  the  ill- 
omened  connexion,  for  the  sake  of  his  daughter's  peace.     T/i  that 
.  interview,  he  exacted  a  promise  from  Caroline  —  given  with 
many  tears,  but '" unhesitatingly  gi\ren — that  she  would  consider*  the 


20  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

engagement  between  herself  and  her  cousin  as  cancelled:  and  as  he 
'  her  cheek,  and  bade  adieu  to  her  for  the  night,  the  poor  eirl 
felt  that,  but  for  her  father,  she  was,  once  more,  alone  in  the  world. 
Never  had  she  felt  so  desolate  till  that  hour ;  but  the  morning  was  to 
bring  a  yet  deeper  desolation  to  her  breast.  That  night  took  from 
her  the  last  heart  to  which  hers  clung ;  for,  amid  its  shadows,  the 
minister  had  passed  away — almost  direct,  as  it  seemed,  from  that 
painful  interview  with  Ids  sole  surviving  child — to  the  presence  of 
those  whom  he  had  mourned  so  deeply  and  lost  so  long ! 

Months  passed  over  the  head  of  the  bereaved  girl,  cheered  by  no 
incident  save  the  universal  sympathy  which  her  orphan  condition  and 
unvarying  sweetness  won  for  her.  The  new  minister,  whose  family 
was  large,  had  supplied  himself  with  a  more  commodious  residence 
than  the  one  in  which  Caroline  lived,  and  which  was  parish  property  ; 
and  an  arrangement  had  been  made,  which  left  her,  with  her  nurse, 
in  possession  of  the  home  which  had  been  the  scene  of  all  her  hopes, 
and  was  now  for  her  "  the  house  of  memory."  Tidings  had,  indeed, 
been  received  of  her  former  lover,  which,  no  doubt,  brought  consola- 
tion with  them — though,  after  the  pledge  given  to  her  father  within 
the  immediate  shadow  of  his  grave,  they  could  no  longer  bring  hope. 
His  naturally  noble  mind  had  awakened  from  its  demoralizing  dream ; 
and  the  energies  of  a  spirit  "  finely  tuned"  had  directed  themselves, 
at  length,  to  those  "  fine  issues"  which  were  its  natural  result.  His 
soul  had  shaken  off  the  foul  mists  by  which  its  clearer  perceptions 
had  been,  for  a  time,  so  fatally  obscured ;  and,  amid  the  sweet  and 
sacred  images  that  came  gliding  back  into  his  purified  heart,  came, 
first  and  sweetest  of  them  all,  the  vision  of  the  Minister's  Daughter. 
Then  it  was,  that  he  learned  the  vow  which  had  come  between  their 
hearts  —  and  knew  that  he  and  Caroline  were  separated  by  the  solemn 
shadows  of  the  minister's  grave.  In  the  strength  of  his  redeemed 
and  penitent  spirit,  he  bowed  his  head  to  the  dispensation  which  he 
felt  that  he  had  himself  provoked ;  and  lent  himself  manfully  to 
arrangements  in  his  favor  which  were  making  by  his  friends  —  and 
which  resulted  in  once  more  opening  up  to  him  the  path  to  fortune, 
though  far  away  from  the  scenes  alike  of  his -early  hopes  and  recent 
faults.  Under  circumstances  of  peculiar  promise,  he  was  invited  to 
join  a  house  in  the  East-India  trade,  upon  condition  that  he  took  up 


THE    MINISTER'S    DAUGHTER.  21 

his  residence  in  Calcutta,  and  in  a  few  weeks  the  seas  were  to 
ratify  that  separation  between  George  P  *  *  *  * ,  and  the  Minister's 
Daughter,  which,  in  her  mind,  was  already  consecrated  by  the  grave 
of  her  father. 

I  have  said  that  Caroline  seldom  weeps :  but  many  and  bitter,  in 
those  days,  were  the  tears  shed  by  the  solitary  girl.  It  was  on  a 
winter's  evening,  in  one  of  those  moments  when  her  spirit  was 
weakened  by  the  sense  of  its  utter  desolation,  that  the  window  of  the 
old  study  was  opened  from  the  garden,  and  George  P  *  *  *  * 
stood,  once  more,  in  the  presence  of  the  Minister's  Daughter.  The 
buoyant  youth  of  sixteen  was  changed  into  a  pale  and  wasted  man ; 
and  he  had  come  to  take  the  words  of  forgiveness  from  the  lips  of 
Caroline,  ere  he  parted  from  her  for  ever.  No  one  saw  their  inter- 
view ;  but  the  old  nurse  heard  the  murmur  of  voices  in  the  boudoir, 
and  the  sound  of  deep  and  passionate  sobbing.  What  passed  between 
them  is  known  but  to  God  and  themselves  —  save  by  its  result ;  and 
that  result  was  what  might  have  been  anticipated  from  such  an  inter- 
view. What  could  be  expected  from  two  young  beings,  thus  thrown 
together  in  the  scene  of  ancient  recollections,  under  circumstances  so 
affecting,  and  linked  together  by  the  old  tie  which  was  the  only  one 
that  time  had  left — at  least  to  Caroline?  How  was  the  orphan  girl 
to  be  proof  against  the  passionate  pleading  of  the  only  heart  which 
still  beat  in  unison  with  her  own  ?  George  had  the  art  to  persuade 
his  girl  that  the  promise  exacted  by  her  father,  in  the  prospect 
of  his  follies,  would  assuredly  have  been  cancelled  in  favor  of  his 
repentance  ;  and  that,  if  the  minister  were  with  them  that  evening. 
in  the  study  where  they  had  so  often  sat  together,  he  would  not  have 
stood  between  his  child  and  the  returning  penitent,  whom  she  still 
loved.  Caroline's  reason  and  heart  alike  told  her  that  this  was  indeed 
so :  and  ere  the  lovers  parted  on  that  night,  they  were  once  more 
betrothed.  The  friends  who  immediately  presided  over  the  fortunes 
of  the  orphan,  entirely  approved  of  the  spirit  in  which  her  promise 
to  her  father  had  been  read,  and  gladly  ratified  the  contract  which 
once  more  opened  up  a  prospect  of  happiness  to  her  bruised  spirit. 
It  was  agreed  that  George  should  depart  for  Calcutta,  alone  :  and,  as 
soon  as  the  success  of  his  speculations  had  been  ascertained,  and 
arrangements  made  for  her  reception,  that  Caroline  should  follow,  and 


22  AMERICAN"  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

become  his  wife.    There  were  many  in  the  village,  however — where 
Caroline  was  beloved  of  all  —  who  looked  on  this  engagement  with 
mess;  and  prophesied  that  no  good  could  come  of  a  contract 
founded  on  a  breach  of  promise  to  the  dead. 

And,  almost  from  the  first,  it  seemed  as  if  these  forebodings  were 
about  to  be  realized.  The  ship  in  which  George  had  taken  his 
passage  for  India  had  sailed  many  months,  yet  no  tidings  of  it  reached 
his  friends.  Week  after  week  of  anxious  suspense  passed  away, 
and  the  ill-fated  girl  drooped  and  faded  before  this  new  trial  of  the 
heart.  At  length,  however,  when  the  time  which  had  elapsed  left 
no  hope  in  the  minds  of  all  others,  the  spirits  of  the  orphan  rallied, 
under  some  mysterious  impulse,  and  hope  came  back  to  her  heart, 
and  bloom  to  her  cheek.  Her  friends  looked  on  uneasily ;  for  she 
was  obviously  sustained  by  some  delusion,  and  this  "  hoping  against 
hope"  argued  an  unsoundness  of  judgment,  at  which  they  trembled, 
but  could  not  wonder.  Strange  and  poetic  fancies  kept  the  poor  girl 
happy,  through  that  trying  time.  Dreams  of  enchanted  islands,  at 
which  the  ship  had,  perhaps,  cast  anchor,  wooed  by  their  wondrous 
beauty — visions  of  unknown  continents,  which  the  crew  might  have 
turned  aside  to  explore — accounted  to  her  for  the  long  delay.  Then, 
there  were  times  when  her  fancies  took  a  more  sober  tone,  and  drew 
their  solutions  of  her  lover's  silence  from  something  more  like  reali- 
ties. But,  amid  them  all,  it  never  occurred  to  her  to  doubt  that  he 
would,  one  day,  come  back.  He  might  have  been  shipwrecked,  or 
taken  by  pirates — but  his  return  was  a  portion  of  all  her  speculations 
— long  after  his  friends  had  mourned  him  as  dead!  And,  for  this 
once,  fortune  was  in  alliance  with  her  heart.  When  all  who  had 
hopes  embarked  in  that  vessel,  save  herself  alone,  had  laid  tliein  in 
their  graves,  came  letters,  announcing  George's  arrival  at  Calcutta. 
The  vessel  had  been  driven  far  to  the  southward,  by  a  long  prevalence 
of  adverse  winds ;  and  regained  her  course  when  famine  had  nearly 
deprived  the  crew  and  passengers  of  all  power  to  avail  themselves  of 
the  more  auspicious  weather.  Caroline  received  the  news  without, 
any  surprise — as  what  she  had  long  expected  :  but,  in  the  presence 
of  her  assured  hopes,  her  tottering  mind  gradually  regained  its  natural 
tone.     And  then  came  fresh  tidings,  announcing  George's  success  j 


THE    MINISTER'S    DAUGHTER.  23 

and  Caroline  set  sail  for  the  East-Indies,  to  be,  at  length,  united  to 
the  lover  of  her  youth. 

The  weather  was  stormy  enough,  until  the  ship,  in  which  she  and 
her  hopes  were  embarked,  had  reached  the  tropic  latitudes  ;  and,  in 
the  excitement,  of  the  novel  scenes  by  which  she  was  surroi 
Car,. Hue's  thoughts  were  diverted  from  dwelling  much  either  on  her 
past  sorrows  01  .her  future  prospects.  Ihit  when  the  weather  lulled, 
succession  of  calms  and  light  breezes  succeeded  to  the  noise 
and  bustle  of  fresh  gales  and  hi  aw  seas,  a  sort  of  tender  melancholy 
stole  over  the  spirit  of  the. lonely  girl.  Amid  the  vast  solitudes  of  the 
ocean— cut  olT  from  all  old  familiar  ties  — the  sense  of  her  orphaned 
condition  came  heavily  to  her  heart ;  and  though  she  strove  to  look 
forward  to  that  happiness  of  which  she  was  sailing  in  search,  yet  she 
had  been  too  long  the  victim  of  disappointment,  to  be  altogether  suc- 
il  in  her  strife  against  that  feeling  of  foreboding,  so  naturally 
born  of  the  waste  of  waters  and  the  torpid  air. 

It  was  one  evening,  after  a  day  of  more  than  usual  depression,  that 
Caroline  descended  to  her  cabin,  in  order  to  seek  in  sleep  a  refuge 
from  the  heaviness  of  spirit  which  she  had  vainly  endeavored  to 
shake  off.  She  sat  long  at  her  window,  watching  the  shadows 
gradually  steal  over  the  world  of  waters  by  which  she  was  sur- 
rounded ;  and  flung  herself,  at  length,  upon  her  bed,  weary  in  spirit 
•and  heavy  at  heart.  But  her  slumbers  were  unrefreshing,  and  her 
dreams  disturbed :  and,  after  a  troubled  sleep,  of  she  could  not  guess 
how  long,  she  found  herself  suddenly  awake.  Her  face  was  hid  in 
the  bed-clothes ;  and  a  vague  and  undcrinable  terror  was  upon  her, 
which  made  her  llcsh  creep,  and  chilled  the  blood  within  her  veins. 
Cbld  drops  of  perspiration  stood  on  her  forehead,  and  her  heart 
fainted,  as  the  heart  of  one  who  stands  in  the  presence  of  a  disem- 
bodied spirit !  She  lay  for  some  moments  in  this  mortal  trance  ;  and 
then,  with  a  presence  of  mind  marvellous  in  one  whose  pulse  stood 
still  with  fear,  she  argued  herself  into  the  conviction  that  she  was 
under  the  impression  of  a  nightmare :  and  raising  her  head  by  a 
convulsive  effort,  looked  forth  into  the  cabin.  The  moon  shone  clear 
into  the  small  chamber  ;  and  between  her  bed  and  the  narrow  window 
by  which  it  gained  entrance  —  in  the  direct  path  of  its  rays— stood 
the  pale  face  and  wasted  form  of  George  P  *  *  *  *  •     The  moon- 


24  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

light  fell  around  him,  like  a  mantle  ;  and  the  eyes  which  had  never 
before  turned  on  her  without  the  expression  of  love,  were  fixed  on 
hers  with  a   look  of  calm  and   passionless   repose.     With  a  loud 
scream,  she  buried  her  face,  again,  within  the  bed-clothes  ;  and  lav, 
she  knew  not  how  long,  in  the  sleep  of  insensibility.     When  con- 
sciousness returned,  and  she,  once  more,  ventured  to  look  up,  the 
apparition  was  gone,  and  the  moonlight  fell  unintercepted  on  her  bed. 
With  a  feeling  like  that  of  approaching  death,  she  rose  from  her 
couch  ;  and  flinging  a  cloak  over  her  shoulders,  ascended  to  the  deck. 
It    was    a   beautiful,   but   melancholy   night.     The   moon   glided, 
spectre-like,  through  the  cloudless  heaven  ;  and  flung,  from  her  nearly 
full  orb,  upon  the  slumbering  waters,  that  pale  and  mournful  light 
which  the  young  and  crescent  planet  never  sheds.     The  ship  floated 
through  the  waters,  before  a  breath  so  faint  as  to  be  scarcely  percep- 
tible, save  from  the  creeping  motion  which  it  communicated  ;  and, 
standing  on  the  same  tack  with  themselves,  though  all  but  motionless, 
the  yards  arfd  shrouds  of  another  ship  rose  right  between  her  line  of 
vision  and  the  wan  moon.     Most  of  the  canvass  had  been  taken  in  ; 
and  the  two  vessels  were  evidently  standing  under  easy  sail  for  the 
purposes   of   communication  with  each  other.     As   Caroline  gazed 
upon  the  spars  and  cordage,  with  all  their  tracery  defined  in  the  pale 
moonlight,  the  strange  vessel  appeared  to  her  excited  imagination  like 
a  spectre-ship ;  and  the  same  mysterious  sense  of  terror  crept  to  her* 
heart,  that  had  chilled  its  life-blood  in  the  cabin  which  she  had  left ! 
But  the  night-air  revived  her — and  her  fear  passed  away — and  a 
sensation  of  exceeding  tenderness  and  melancholy  took  its  place. 
The  phantoms  of  her  mother  and  her  sisters  passed  through  her 
heart,  and  the  echoes  of  old  familiar  voices  floated  to  her  ear ;  and  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  her  destiny  were  accomplished,  and  she  were 
beckoned,  by  invisible  hands,  on  board  the  spirit-ship  that  lay  white 
before  her,  in  the  moonbeams.     She  sat  on  the  poop  of  the  vessel, 
and  watched  the  strange  craft  that  appeared  to  her  heart  like  some 
mystery  which   it  was    bound   to    solve ;    till,    letters   having   been 
exchanged  between  the  ships,  the  object  of  her  trance-like  interest 
spread  its   wings,  and  glided  slowly  away  through  the   moonlight. 
Never  before  had  the  lonely  girl  felt  so  lone.     What  was  that  strange 
ship  to  her,  that  her  spirit  so  yearned  toward  it,  and  her  heart  so  died 


THE    MINISTER'S    DAUGHTER.  25 

within  her  to  see  it  depart  ?  All  night,  she  fancied  that  she  heard 
the  sound  of  wings  that  went  and  came  between  the  ships ;  and 
when,  at  length,  in  the  gray  of  the  morning,  the  stranger  faded  off 
into  the  distance,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  spectre-ship  had  vanished 
away  into  some  sea-grave. 

That  night  at  sea  it  was  which  left  on  the  forehead  of  the  Minis- 
ter's Daughter,  the  solemn  characters  whose  interpretation  you  have 
so  often  sought  from  me !  The  talc  is  soon  told.  When  Caroline 
reached  Calcutta,  there  was  no  one  expecting  her,  and  no  one  to 
meet  her.  Three  days  after  the  date  of  his  letter,  summoning  over 
his  bride,  her  lover  had  been  seized  with  the  fever  of  the  country, 
and  carried  off  in  a  few  hours.  In  writing  to  Caroline,  he  had 
recommended  her  t«r  come  out  by  a  vessel  which  was  to  sail  some 
niou' hs  later  than  that  in  which,  for  reasons  of  convenience,  her 
friends  had  secured  her  passage.  She  was  not,  therefore,  expected 
so  soon ;  and  when  he  knew  that  he  was  dying,  he  had  made  it  his 
earnest  request  that  he  might  be  sent  home  to  lie  near  her,  in  the  old 
church-yard.  His  body  was  conveyed  to  New- York,  in  the  vessel 
which  had  exchanged  letters  with  the  ship  on  board  of  which  was 
the  Minister's  Daughter:  and  thus  had  they  two  met,  for  the  last 
time,  amid  the  moonlight  solitudes  of  the  sea. 

This  it  is  that  has  weighed  more  heavily  on  Caroline  than  all  her 
sorrows  besides.  Never  has  she  consoled  herself  for  having  misun- 
derstood the  warnings  of  her  heart,  in  that  last  unconscious  meeting 
and  passed  forward  to  India,  in  search  of  happiness,  while  her  lover 
was  travelling  homeward  to  his  grave.  The  strangeness  of  that 
meeting  —  strange  enough  even  to  you  and  me,  who  are  but  unimpas- 

sioned  listeners  to  the  narration  of  an  incident  so  singularly  Avild 

has  haunted  her  heart,  like  some  high  and  solemn  mystery :  and  it 
can  scarcely  surprise  you  to  learn  that  the  poor  girl's  mind  is  indeli- 
bly impressed  with  the  reality  of  a  visitation  from  her  lover,  in  her 
cabin.,  while  the  two  ships  were  in  company.  There  are  some 
circumstances,  so  striking  in  themselves  and  so  strange  in  their 
combination,  that  it  would  be  worse  than  idle  to  argue  against  the 
convictions  which  they  leave  behind,  in  the  troubled  spirits  they 
assail.  Caroline  returned  to  her  native  land,  and  has  resided  since 
amid  the  friends  to  whom  her  story  is  known,  and  beside  the  graves 

4 


26  AMERICAN  DOOK  OK  BEAVTY. 

of  her  perished  hopes :  and  the  memories  of  that  night,  acting  upon 
a  heart  which  time  has  once  more  tuned  to  all  its  early 
have  made  her  the  intensely  interesting  and  strangely  beautiful  being 
you  now  see  her. 


THE  EMPEROR  AND  THE  ALCHYMIST. 

OR    THE     9RANDNEPHEW    OF    FAUST. 

TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    GERMAN. 

"  Everything,  yes,  everything  is  possible  with  the  children  ol 
Hermes,  who  possess  an  uncorrupt  heart.  What  secrets  have  I  not 
discovered  with  your  aid,  oh,  incomparable  Faust !  oh,  learned  Ray- 
mond Lully !  oh,  mighty  Nicholas  Flamel !  Am  I  ignorant  of  the 
composition  of  the  miraculous  water  which  bestows  youth  and  ever- 
lasting health  ?  What  recipe  is  unknown  to  me  1  Have  I  not  the 
dangerous  talent  of  transforming  the  baser  metals  into  gold  !  Come, 
then,  let  us  see ;  to  work  again,  with  the  skill  I  ought  to  have  at- 
tained. The  Romans  were  not  incapable  of  rendering  brass  flexible  ! 
And  I  am  to  be  arrested  by  this  vile  clay  !  I  ?  I,  Gottlieb  ?  I,  the 
grandnephew  of  Faust  ?     No,  I  will  discover  it !" 

You  would  have  seen  of  a  certain  stormy  night,  in  a  solitary  house 
situated  in  the  most  unfrequented  street  of  Vienna,  a  man  in  the  prime 
of  youth,  richly  clad  in  a  black  velvet  vest,  embroidered  with  Arabian 
characters  of  gold,  with  a  cap  of  the  same  material,  surmounted  by  a 
red  plume  attached  with  a  clasp  of  emeralds,  his  sleeves  drawn  up,  a 
leathern  apron  on,  his  feet  enclosed  in  stout  buckskin  slippers  ;  you 
would  have  seen  this  man,  a  learned  alchymist,  devotedly  attached  to 
the  grand  art,  armed  with  an  iron  tube,  stirring  and  mixing  together  in 
a  burning  crucible  a  preparation  of  sand,  vermilion,  and  fern,  yielding 
to  the  intense  heat  which  surrounded  them. 

"  Nothing  is  more  simple  than  this,"  said  he,  suspending  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  tube,  into  which  he  blew  a  drop  of  this  flaming  liquid 
"  here  is  glass  —  glass,  productive  of  nothing,  it  is  true,  yet  it  is  glass 


THE  EMPEROR  AND  THE  ALCHYMIST.  27 

Let  us  see  now  if  the  powerful  poisons,  if  the  less  common  alkalis, 
will  not  conduct  me  to  the  lofty  end  I  anticipate  !"  Then,  adding  to 
the  mixture  already  in  ebullition  an  unknown  preparation,  he  followed 
with  anxious  looks  the  bubbles  of  this  hazardous  manipulation.  Sud- 
denly he  stopped.  Full  of  despair,  he  violently  agitated  the  antimony 
and  bismuth,  blew  again  through  the  tube,  and  finding  then  that  he  had 
produced  a  hard,  transparent,  and  malleable  substance,  he  expressed, 
in  the  words  of  Archimedes,  his  noble  enthusiasm  :  "  I  have  dis- 
covered it !"  *  *  *  *  * 

The  Emperor  Joseph  1,1.,  as  everybody  knew,  delighted  much  in 
playing  the  incognito.  He  had  fallen  in  many  times,  in  nocturnal 
wanderings,  with  very  singular  adventures ;  sometimes  agreeable 
enough,  at  other  times  perilous.  One  of  these  latter  conducted  him, 
through  a  pelting  storm,  into  a  street  far  distant  from  his  palace. 
Alone,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  he  had  just  escaped  from  a  band  of 
a  fraternity,  playing  the  incognito,  minus  his  purse,  watch,  weapons, 
and  cloak.  Perceiving  through  the  obscurity,  in  spite  of  the  well- 
closed  blinds  of  a  small,  new  house,  a  brilliant  light,  he  directed  his 
course  toward  it,  and  rapping  loudly  with  the  brass  knocker  against 
the  oaken  door,  awaited  a  reply  to  his  summons. 

"  Who  is  there  ?" 

"  Open,  in  the  name  of  the  emperor  !" 

His  imperial  majesty  had  sufficient  time  to  be  thoroughly  drenched, 
for  some  minutes  elapsed  ere  a  genteel  youth,  a  drawn  sword  in  the 
one  hand  and  a  flambeau  in  the  other,  like  Don  Juan  before  the  statue 
of  the  commander,  came  and  opened  to  him. 

<;  Who  are  you  ?" 

"  An  officer  of  Joseph  II.  I  crave  an  asylum.  I  have  been  stopped 
by  three  wretches,  who  left  me  in  the  plight  which  you  now  see." 

"  Yes,  your  aspect  bears  you  out ;  provided  you  be  not  one  of  them, 
perhaps." 

"  How  could  you  think  V 

"  Why  deceive  me  ?"  said  the  suspicious  fellow,  approaching  the  light 
to  the  face  of  Joseph.  "  You  are  the  emperor  !  I  know  your  maj- 
esty. Suffer  me  to  enjoy  the  honor  of  receiving  you  into  my  modest 
domicil.  Walk  in,  sire  ;  you  are  with  a  faithful  subject."  Then, 
having  carefully  shut  the  door,  he  added :   "  Now,  I  declare,  the  arri- 


28  AMERICAN    BOOK    OF    BEAUTY. 

val  of  your  majesty  is  quite  apropos,  since  I  have  an  interesting  secret 
to  communicate." 

"  What  ?" 

"  Come,  sire,  repose  yourself  a  while  ;  we  will  then  converse — if 
your  majesty  will  permit." 

The  emperor,  dissatisfied  at  being  recognised,  followed  his  guide 
with  a  prudent  step  and  serious  air.  He  was  astonished  at  the  ele- 
gant recherche  of  the  apartments.  Many  objects  of  art  and  curiosity 
were  totally  unknown  to  him.  He  admired  the  paintings,  the  statues, 
and  the  sumptuous  furniture  glittering  in  silk  and  gold,  and  was  sur- 
prised at  the  common  use  to  which  this  precious  metal  was  perverted  ; 
but,  what  astonished  him  still  more,  was  the  costly  dress  which  the 
owner  of  this  abode  brought  him,  and  which  he  assisted  in  arraying 
him  with  at  the  side  of  a  blazing  forge.    • 

"  Accept  a  draught  of  this  beverage,  sire.  'Tis  the  elixir  of  Aris- 
tee.     You  will  find  it  very  refreshing,  sire." 

Having  quaffed  this  nectar,  which  both  reanimated  and  revived  him, 
assured  by  the  touching  proofs  of  hospitality,  the  emperor  stretched 
himself  out  at  his  ease  in  a  capacious  arm-chair  which  his  host  ten- 
dered him,  and  signifying  to  him  also  to  be  seated,  he  conversed  with 
him  undisguisedly. 

"  All  which  I  have  now  told  you  is  true,  excepting  my  name,  which 
I  would  have  concealed  from  you.  In  short,  I  am  Joseph  II.  I  return 
you  my  sincere  thanks  for  the  hospitable  reception  you  have  afforded 
me.  You  have  a  matter  of  importance  to  disclose  to  me,  you  say.  One 
can  not  be  more  favorably  disposed  to  listen  to  you  than  I  am  ;  speak." 

"  Sire,  you  are  at  the  house  of  the  grandnephew  of  Faust." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  the  emperor,  starting  up,  "  you  are  Gottlieb 
Faust !  the  scouted — the  bloody — he  whom  they  accuse  of  impiety, 
of  sorcery !" 

"  Gottlieb  Faust  himself,  sire." 

"  Know  you  that  I  have  been  solicited  twenty  times  to  order  youi 
arrest  V 

"  There  are  so  many  fools  !" 

"  To  sign  your  condemnation  ?" 

"  So  many  blockheads  !" 

"  You  know  it  V 


THE  EMPEROR  AND  THE  ALCHYMIST.  29 

"  Yes,  sire,  and  I  also  know  that  your  majesty,  more  enlightened 
than  the  ignoramuses  and  envious  persons  which  surround  you,  have 
never  credited  the  silly  accusations  brought  against  me." 

"  No,  certainly,"  replied  Joseph.  '"Yet,  without  an  honorable  em- 
ployment, without  patrimony,  disdaining  to  make  useful  the  rare  talents 
you  possess  in  the  sciences  and  liberal  arts,  you  lead  an  easy  life, 
surrounded  with  every  comfort.  Everything  here  breathes  of  opu- 
lence and  taste.     By  what  means ?" 

"  Sire,"  said  Gottlieb,  "  with  such  a  prince  as  you,  one  can  speak 
unreservedly.  Everything  in  me  and  in  my  house  are  extraordinary ; 
but  there  is  nothing  supernatural.  That  which  the  Deity  conceals 
from  ordinary  individuals,  he  divulges  to  enlightened  souls.  I  know 
the  great  work ;  I  possess  the  philosopher's  stone.  I  have  gold  — 
gold — always  gold.  With  gold,  the  wise  man  enjoys  himself.  The 
fool  abuses  it,  and  perishes.  Pass  into  my  laboratory  ;  it  is  yet  warm 
from  the  effects  of  a  new  discovery,  curious  and  wonderful.  I  had 
attained  the  certitude  at  the  instant  you  knocked  at  my  door.  Follow 
me,  sire  ;  you  shall  become  acquainted  with  it." 

Joseph  entered  the  workshop  :  the  fire  was  not  yet  extinct. 

"  Previous  to  learning  you  my  secret,  I  wish  you  to  judge  of  the  real 
power  of  science.  Sire,  take  this  saffron-colored  powder.  Throw  a 
pinch  of  it  upon  this  common  metal,  already  rendered  liquid  by  the 
little  remaining  fire.  'Tis  well !  This,  then,  is  gold  ;  the  sun,  the 
king  of  metals  !  Keep  that  wedge  ;  ask  to-morrow  of  the  crown  jew- 
eller if  it  be  free  from  alloy.  This  vial  contains  more  gold  than  per- 
haps the  mint ;  it  is  at  your  service.  Your  finances  are  at  rather  a 
low  ebb  ;  make  use  of  it,  sire  :  you  may  believe  me.  But  now  come 
with  me  to  that  which  is  dearer  to  me  than  gold." 

Upon  a  marble  slab  the  emperor  perceived  a  crystal  vase,  brilliant 
and  transparent.     Gottlieb  placed  it  within  the  hands  of  Joseph. 

"  Sire,  here  is  the  miraculous  fruit  of  my  secret  labors  :  the  cares, 
the  vigils,  the  researches  of  two  years  !•" 

"  What !  this  piece  of  glass  ?" 

"  The  same,  sire." 

"  But  our  manufacturers  in  Bohemia " 

"  Can  not  produce  the  like,"  said  the  alchemist  with  a  disdainful  smile. 
"  To  convince  yourself,  it  but  suffices  to  examine  it  attentively." 


30  AMERICAN"  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

"  I  see  nothing  extraordinary  about  it." 

"  No  ?    Well !  throw  it  down  upon  the  flags  of  this  chamber." 

"  But,"  said  the  emperor,  "  it  will  be  dashed  into  fragments." 

"  Throw  it  down  !  Good  !  I  now  pick  it  up.  It  is  entire,  unin- 
jured. You  see,  in  place  of  being  broken,  like  ordinary  glass,  it  is 
but  slightly  indented.  Take  this  large  hammer,  strike  it  yourself  upon 
the  bent  side,  in  the  interior,  there.  A  few  more  strokes.  Very 
well.  Having  then  yourself  restored  this  vase  to  its  original  shape, 
you  now  learn  for  certain,  that  Gottlieb  Faust,  the  impious  Gottlieb 
the  sorcerer,  has  divined,  contrived,  and  discovered  the  wonderful 
secret  to  render  glass  malleable.  A  mortal  creates  an  imperishable 
matter,  eternal !  What  glory,  what  honor  to  me  !  What  do  you  think, 
sire  ?"  added  Gottlieb,  with  a  joyful  air. 

"  That  you  must  for  ever  abandon  this  admirable  secret — for  ever  ! 
You  must,  I  tell  you." 

"  But,  sire " 

"  I  command !" 

And  profiting  by  the  sudden  check  which  this  unexpected  reply  had 
occasioned,  the  emperor  snatched  down  a  sword  from  the  wall,  dart- 
ed out,  and  opening  the  door,  exclaimed  :  "  Gottlieb  Faust,  the  day  is 
dawning.  I  depart.  Silence,  till  we  meet  again.  Yuur  days  are 
numbered !"  *****  * 

"  Well,  my  dear  baron,  is  it  true  that  his  gracious  majesty  has  issued 
an  order  for  the  arrest  of  that  miscreant  Faust  ?" 

"  Yes,  count,  they  conducted  the  rascal  to  the  palace  this  morning.'' 

"  I  hope  he  will  be  burnt  alive  !"  added  a  third. 

"  But  what  crime  has  he  committed  ?"  chimed  in  an  elegant  noble 
of  Thuringia. 

"  How  !  what  crime  has  he  committed  ?  He's  a  villain,  a  blas- 
phemer, an  atheist !  he  vomits  gold  !" 

"  Where  does  he  obtain  it  ?" 

"  Xobody  knows.  No  doubt  but  he  is  plotting  against  the  state. 
He  has  associates.     He  throws  charms  around  the  young." 

"  He  has  injured  my  mistress,"  said  old  Olmestark.  "  Hang  him, 
I  say.     We  will  all  witness  his  execution!" 

It  was  after  this  fashion  that  some  worthy  German  nobles  were  con- 
versing in  the  palace  of  Schoenbrunn,  brave,  but  ignorant  fellows, 


THE  EMPEROk  AND  THE  ALCHYMIST.  31 

whose  type  has  scarcely  changed  even  at  this  date,  in  some  of  the 
very  small  and  retired  towns  in  Germany. 

Early  in  the  morning,  in  good  earnest,  the  abode  of  Faust  had  been 
entered,  and  himself  conducted  to  the  palace.  A  crowd  of  specta- 
tors, idle  and  unfortunate,  who  had  been  succored  and  relieved  by  him 
at  various  times,  followed  in  tears  and  murmurs  the  soldiers  who 
formed  his  escort.  Arrived  at  the  palace,  he  was  immediately  intro- 
duced into  the  cabinet  of  Joseph  II. 

The  emperor,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  thus  addressed  him  :  "  Gott- 
lieb, I  shall  never  forget  what  you  have  done  for  me.  I  admire  your 
talents  ;  and  more,  I  accept  your  generous  succor,  of  which  my  treasu- 
ry stands  in  great  need.  The  emperor,  in  acknowledgment,  confers 
on  you  nobility.  Receive  this  cross  of  Maria  Theresa,  and  the  title 
of  count  of  Faustenburg,  more  acceptable  than  gold,  which  you  can  so 
easily  procure.  As  regards  your  wonderful  discovery,  our  word  will 
suffice  to  convince  you  of  the  necessity  for  renouncing  it.  Be  calm, 
and  listen  to  me.  One  of  the  greatest  revenues  of  the  state,  one  of  the 
principal  resources  of  Bohemia,  is  the  manufacture  of  that  glass  so  re- 
nowned throughout  Europe ;  of  that  crystal,  bought  up  and  supplied 
throughout  the  empire.  Your  process  once  known,  adieu  to  this  trade 
for  ever.  I  can  imagine  the  sacrifice  it  wftl  cost  a  man  like  you,  to  be 
obliged  to  renounce  the  glorious  price  of  his  labors.  But  the  public 
weal  requires  it,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  exact  it.  Swear  to  me,  then,  to  re- 
nounce this  project"  —  (and  shaking  hands  with  him),  "  I  ask  it  of  you, 
my  dear  Faust,  I  ask  it  of  you  as  a  friend  ;  I  will  not.  command  it  as  a 
king." 

Gottlieb  Faust,  or  rather  the  count  of  Faustenburg,  was  moved,  and 
promised  it  with  tears  in  his  eyes  ;  and,  what  is  yet  more  rare,  he  kept 
his  word. 

The  courtiers  were  much  amazed  at  so  long  a  conference,  and  still 
more  so  at  the  unexpected  result.  It  is  almost  needless  to  add  that 
those  who  were  so  eager  to  hang  Faust,  were  the  foremost  in  pressing 
round  and  soliciting  the  friendship  of  the  count  of  Faustenburg.  With 
the  vial  of  Faust,  Joseph  II.  liquidated  the  public  debt ;  and  at  his 
death,  which  occurred  soon  after,  he  left  the  finances  of  the  empire  in 
the  most  flourishing  condition.  And  this  will  account  for  the  discovery 
of  malleable  glass  having  fallen  into  oblivion. 


ON  THE  PORTRAIT  OF  MISS  TYNDAL 

'Tis  a  glorious  thing  to  gaze  upon 
A  face  •which  Beauty  hath  made  its  own. 
Where  it  6itteth  as  on  a  regal  throne, 
In  all  its  native  6plendor. 

Bright,  heautiful  one  !  ah !  that  glad,  sweet  face, 
Indeed  hath  it  made  its  dwelling-place. 
Investing  each  glance  with  a  nameless  grace. 
Half  arch  and  yet  half  tender. 

It  dwells  in  the  light  of  that  "bright  "blue  eye. 
On  the  rosy  cheek,  on  the  forehead  high, 
Some  new-found  charm  we  still  descry, 
No  painter  e'er  could  render. 

Say,  who  can  gaze  on  a  form  so  fair, 
80  "bright,  60  lovely,  and  then  forbear 
To  pray  that  with  its  choicest  care, 
Kind  Heaven  may  defend  her  ? 


T  T  2T  BAIL 


y  ■■  ■    y  ■//-.,' 


THE    DEVIL'S    HOLLOW. 

AN    INCIDENT    OF    REA.L    LIFE. 

In  the  town  of  Catskill,  on  the  Hudson  river,  there  dwelt,  some 
twenty  years  ago,  an  attorney  of  the  name  of  Mason.  He  was  in 
considerable  practice,  and  had  two  clerks  in  his  office,  whose  names 
were  Mansell  and  Van  Buren.  In  point  of  ability  these  young  men 
were  nearly  on  a  par,  but  they  differed  widely  in  disposition.  Van 
Buren  was  cold,  close,  and  somewhat  sullen  in  temper  ;  but  in  busi- 
ness shrewd,  active,  and  persevering.  Mansell,  although  assiduous  in 
his  duties,  was  of  a  gayer  temperament ;  open  as  the  day,  generous, 
confiding,  and  free. 

Mason,  without  being  absolutely  dishonest,  was  what  is  called  a 
keen  lawyer,  his  practice  being  somewhat  of  the  sharpest ;  and  as 
the  disposition  of  his  elder  clerk,  Van  Buren,  assimilated,  in  many 
respects,  to  his  own,  he  was  a  great  favorite  —  more  intimately  in  his 
confidence,  and  usually  employed  in  those  delicate  matters  which 
sometimes  occur  in  an  attorney's  business,  and  in  which  the  straight- 
forward honesty  of  Mansell  might  rather  hinder  than  help. 

Mason  had  a  niece  who,  he  being  a  bachelor,  lived  with  him  in  the 
capacity  of  housekeeper.  She  was  a  lively,  sensitive,  and  clever 
girl  —  very  pretty,  if  not  positively  handsome.  She  had  the  grace  of 
a  sylph,  and  the  step  of  a  fawn.  It  was  quite  natural  that  such  a 
maiden  should  be  an  object  of  interest  to  tw-o  young  men  living  under 
the  same  roof — and  by  no  means  a  matter  of  astonishment  that  one 
or  both  of  them  should  fall  in  love  with  her  ;'  and  both  of  them  did. 
But,  as  the  young  lady  had  but  one  heart,  she  could  not  return  the 
love  of  each.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that,  in  making  her 
election,  the  choice  fell  upon  Edward  Mansell,  greatly  to  the  chagrin 
of  his  rival,  and  to  the  annoyance  of  Mason,  who  would  have  been 
better  pleased  to  have  found  Van  Buren  the  favored  suiter.     How- 

5 


34  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

ever,  Mansell  was  the  chosen  lover,  and  Mason  could  not  alter  the 
case  by  argument ;  nor  was  he  disposed  to  send  away  his  niece,  who 
was,  in  some  measure,  essential  to  his  domestic  comfort — and,  more- 
over, he  loved  her  as  much  as  he  could  love  anything.  Matters 
went  on  in  this  way  for  some  time  ;  a  great  deal  of  bitterness  and 
rancor  being  displayed  by  Mason  and  Van  Buren  on  the  one  hand  ; 
while  Kate  and  Edward  Mansell  found,  in  the  interviews  they  occa- 
sionally enjoyed,  more  than  compensation  for  the  annoyance  to  which 
they  were  necessarily  exposed. 

It  happened,  at  the  time  when  Edward's  engagement  was  within  a 
month  of  its  expiration,  that  Mason  had  received  a  sum  of  money, 
as  agent  for  another  party,  amounting  to  nearly  three  thousand  dollars, 
of  which  the  greater  portion  was  in  gold  coin.  As  the  money  could 
not  conveniently  be  disposed  of  until  the  following  day,  it  was  de- 
posited in  a  tin  box  in  the  iron  safe,  the  key  of  which  Avas  always 
in  the  custody  of  Mansell.  Soon  after  he  received  the  charge,  Van 
Buren  quitted  the  office  for  a  short  time,  and  in  the  interim  an  appli- 
cation from  a  client  rendered  it  necessary  for  Mansell  to  go  up  to  the 
courthouse.  Having  despatched  his  business  at  the  hall,  he  returned 
with  all  expedition,  and  in  due  time  he  took  the  key  of  the  safe  from 
his  drawer  to  deposite  therein  as  usual  the  valuable  papers  of  the 
office  over  night — when,  to  his  inconceivable  horror,  he  discovered 
that  the  treasure  was  gone  ! 

He  rushed  down  stairs,  and  meeting  Van  Buren,  communicated 
the  unfortunate  circumstance.  He  in  turn  expressed  his  astonish- 
ment in  strong  terms,  and,  indeed,  exhibited  something  like  sympathy 
in  his  brother  clerk's  misfortune.  Every  search  was  made  about  the 
premises,  and  information  given  to  the  nearest  magistrate  ;  but,  as 
Mason  was  from  home,  and  would  not  return  until  the  next  day,  little 
else  could  be  done.  Edward  passed  a  night  of  intense  agony  —  nor 
were  the  feelings  of  Kate  more  enviable.  .Mason  returned  some 
hours  earlier  than  was  expected,  sent  immediately  for  Van  Buren, 
and  was  closeted  with  him  for  a  long  time. 

Mansell,  utterly  incapacitated  by  the  overwhelming  calamity  which 
had  befallen  him,  from  attending  to  his  duties,  was  walking,  ignorant 
of  Mason's  return,  when  Kate  came,  or  rather  flew  toward  him,  and 
exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Edward,  my  uncle  has  applied  for  a  warrant  to  ap- 


the  devil's  hollow.  35 

prehend  you  ;  and,  innocent  though  I  know  you  to  be,  that  fiend  in 
human  form,  Van  Buren,  has  wound  such  a  web  around  you  that  I 
dread  the  worst.  I  have  not  time  to  explain  ;  fly  instantly,  and  meet 
me,  at  nightfall,  in  the  Devil's  Hollow,  when  I  will  tell  you  all." 

Mansell,  scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  rushed  out  of  the  garden, 
and  through  some  fields  ;  nor  did  he  stop  until  he  found  himself  out 
'  of  sight  of  the  town,  on  the  banks  of  the  river.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  he  repented  of  having  listened  to  the  well-mennt  but  unwise 
counsel  of  his  dear  Kate.  But  the  step  was  taken,  and  he  could 
not  retrace  it  now.  He  proceeded  until  he  arrived  at  a  thick  grove, 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Devil's  Hollow,  where  he  lay  hid  until 
night  closed  upon  him. 

He  then  approached  a  dark  opening  in  which  was  a  deep  hollow, 
.which  had  acquired  a  celebrity  from  its  having  been  the  scene  of  a 
murder  some  years  before,  and  hence  was  an  object  of  such  super- 
stitious awe  to  the  farmers  of  the  vicinity,  that  he  was  considered  a 
bold  man  who  would  venture  there  after  nightfall.  This,  doubtless, 
had  influenced  Kate  in  her  choice  of  such  a  place  for  their  meeting, 
inasmuch  as  they  would  be  secure  from  interruption. 

Mansell  returned  and  still  lingered  on  the  skirt  of  the  grove,  until 
the  sound  of  a  light  footstep  on  the  gravelled  path  which  led  to  the 
place,  announced  the  approach  of  the  loved  being  whom  he  felt  he 
was  about  to  meet  for  the  last  time.  The  poor  girl  could  not  speak 
a  word  when  they  met,  but,  bowing  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  burst 
into  a  flood  of  passionate  tears.  By  degrees  she  became  more  calm, 
and  then  detailed  to  him  a  conversation  that  she  had  overheard  be- 
tween Van  Buren  and  her  uncle  ;  and  gathered  thence  that  the  for- 
mer had  succeeded  in  convincing  Mason  of  Edward's"  guilt,  by  an 
artful  combination  of  facts,  which  would  have  made  out  a  prima  facie 
case  against  the  accused  —  the  most  formidable  one  being  the  finding 
of  a  considerable  sum,  in  specie,  in  Mansell's  trunk.  Knowing  that 
he  could  not  satisfactorily  account  for  the  possession  of  this  money, 
without  the  evidence  of  a  near  relative  who  had  departed  for  Europe 
a  week  before,  and  whose  address  was  unknown,  and  return  uncer- 
tain, Edward,  to  avoid  the  horror  and  disgrace  of  lying  in  the  county 
prison  in  the  intermediate  time,  resolved  on   evading  the  officers  of 


36  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

justice,  until  he  could  surrender  himself,  with  the  proofs  of  his  inno- 
cence in  his  hands. 

The  moon  had  now  risen  above  the  hill  which  bounded  the  pros- 
pect, and  warned  the  heart-broken  lovers  that  it  was  time  to  separate. 
"  And  now,"  said  he,  "  dearest,  I  leave  you,  with  the  brand  of  '  thief 
upon  my  fair  name,  to  be  hunted  like  a  beast  of  prey,  from  one  hiding- 
place  to  another.  But,  oh,  my  Kate  !  I  bear  with  me  the  blessed  as- 
surance that  there  is  one  being — and  that  being  the  best-beloved  of 
my  heart — who  knows  me  to  be  innocent;  and  that  thought  shall 
comfort  me." 

"  A  remarkably  pretty  speech,  and  well  delivered !"  exclaimed  a 
voice,  which  caused  the  youthful  pair  to  start,  and  turn  their  eyes  in 
the  direction  whence  it  proceeded,  when,  from  behind  a.  decayed  and 
sol  nary  tree  that  grew  in  the  Hollow,  a  tall  figure,  wrapped  in  an 
ample  cloak,  advanced  toward  them.  The  place,  as  we  have  already 
noticed,  had  an  evil  reputation ;  and,  although  Edward  and  his  com- 
panion were,  of  course,  free  from  the  superstitious  fears  which  char- 
acterized the  country  people,  an  undefinable  feeling  stole  over  them, 
as  they  gazed  upon  the  tall  form  before  them. 

Mansell,  however,  soon  recovered  himself,  and  told  the  stranger 
that,  whoever  he  was,  it  ill  became  him  to  overhear  conversation 
which  was  not  intended  for  other  ears  than  their  own. 

"  Nay,"  was  the  rejoinder,  "  be  not  angry  with  me ;  perhaps  you 
may  have  reason  to  rejoice  in  my  presence,  since,  being  in  posses- 
sion of  the  story  of  your  grief,  it  may  be  in  my  power  to  alleviate  it. 
I   have  assisted  men  in  greater  straits." 

Edward  did  not  like  the  last  sentence,  nor  the  tone  in  which  it  was 
uttered  ;  but  he  said,  "  I  see  not  how  you  can  help  me  ;  you  can  not 
give  me  a  clue  by  which  to  find  the  box." 

"  Yes,  here  is  a  clue  /"  replied  the  other,  as  he  held  forth  about 
three  yards  of  strong  cord,  "  here  is  a  line  ;  go  to  the  river  at  a  point 
exactly  opposite  the  old  hollow  oak ;  wade  out  in  a  straight  line  until 
you  find  the  box ;  attach  one  end  of  the  cord  to  the  box  and  the  other 
to  a  stout  cork — but  remove  it  not  yet." 

Mansell,  whether  he  really  believed  himself  to  be  in  the  presence 
of  the  Evil  One,  or  that  the  word  was  merely  expressive  of  surprise, 
we  know  not. 


THE    DEVIL'S    HOLLOW.  37 

The  stranger  took  the  compliment,  and  acknowledging  it  with  a 
bow,  said,  "  The  tin  box  which  you  have  been  accused  of  stealing, 
is  at  the  bottom  of  the  river,  and  you  will  find  that  I  have- said  no 
more  than  the  truth." 

Mansell  hesitated  no  longer,  but  accompanied  the  stranger  to  the 
spot,  and  in  a  few  minutes,  the  box,  sealed  as  when  he  last  saw  it. 
was  again  in  his  possession.  He  looked  from  the  treasure  to  the 
stranger,  and  at  last  said,  "  I  owe  you  more  than  life  ;  for,  in  regain- 
ing this,  I  shall  recover  my  good  name,  which  has  been  foully  tra- 
duced." 

He  was  proceeding  toward  the  shore,  when  the  other  cried  : 
"  Stop,  young  gentleman  !  not  quite  so  fast ;  just  fasten  your  cord 
to  it,  and  replace  it  where  you  found  it,  if  you  please."     Edward 
stared,  but  the  stranger  continued  :     "  Were  you  to  take  that  box  back 
to  your  employer,  think  you  that  you   would  produce  any  other  con- 
viction on  him  than  that,  finding  your  delinquency  discovered,  you 
wished   to  secure  impunity,  by  restoring  the   property  ?      We   must 
not  only  restore  the  treasure,  but  convict  the  thief.     Hush  !  I  hear  a 
footfall."     As  he  spoke,  he  took  the  box  from  Edward,  who  now  saw 
his  meaning,  fastened  the  cord  to  it,  and  it  was  again  lowered  to  the 
bottom  of  the  river,  and  the  cork  on  the  other  end  of  the  cord  was 
swinging  down  with  the  tide.     "  Now,  follow  me  in  silence,"  whis- 
pered the  stranger,  and  the  three  retired  and  hid  themselves'  behind 
the  huge  trunk   of  the  tree,  whence,  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  they 
beheld  a  figure  approach  the  water,  looking  cautiously  around  him. 

"  That  is  the  thief,"  said  the  stranger,  in  a  low  voice,  in  Edward's 
ear.  "  I  saw  him,  last  night,  throw  something  into  the  river,  and. 
when  he  was  gone,  I  took  the  liberty  of  raising  it  up  ;  when,  expect- 
ing that  he  would  return  and  remove  his  booty,  I  replaced  it,  and  had 
been  unsuccessfully  watching  the  place  just  before  I  met  you  in  the 
Hollow." 

By  this  time  the  man  had  reached  the  river's  brink,  and,  after 
groping  for  some  time  through  the  water,  he  found  the  box,  but 
started  back  in  astonishment  on  seeing  a  long  cord  attached  to  it.  His 
back  was  turned  from  the  witnesses  of  the  transaction,  so  that  Ed- 
ward and  the  stranger  had  got  him  securely  by  the  collar  before  he 
could  make  any  attempt  to  escape.      The  surprise  of  Mansell  and 


38  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAVTV. 

Kate  may  be  more  easily  conceived  than  painted,  ulna,  as  the  moon- 
beam fell  on  the  face  of  the  culprit,  they  recognised  the  features  oi 
Van  Buren,  his  fellow-clerk. 

Our  limits  will  not  allow  of  our  saying  more  than  that  Mansell's 
character  was  cleared  ;  while  Van  Buren,  whom  Mason,  for  reasons 
confined  to  his  own  bosom,  refrained  from  prosecuting,  quitted  the 
town  in  merited  disgrace.  The  stranger  proved  to  be  a  gentleman 
of  large  landed  property  in  the  neighborhood,  which  he  had  now 
visited  for  the  first  time  in  many  years,  and,  having  been  interested 
in  the  young  pair  whom  he  had  so  opportunely  delivered  from  trib- 
ulation, he  subsequently  appointed  Mansell  his  man  of  business,  and 
thus  laid  the  foundation  of  his  prosperity.  It  is  almost  needless  to 
add,  that  Kate,  who  had  so  long  shared  his  heart,  became  Ins  wife, 
and  shared  his  good  fortune. 


ENVY    AND    CANDOR. 

A   DIALOGUE    BETWEEN    TWO    YOUNG    LADIES. 

Envy.  What  do  you  think  of  this  Miss  H.  that  is  come  among  us  ? 

Candor.  I  think  her  a  very  beautiful,  elegant,  and  accomplished 
young  woman. 

Envy.  That  I  am  convinced  is  precisely  her  own  opinion. 

Cand.or.  I  am  St  a  loss  to  know  how  you  come  to  be  convinced, 
from  her  manner  or  conversation,  that  she  thinks  so  highly  of  herself. 

Envy.  0,  it  is  quite  evident  the  men  have  turned  the  girl's  head  ; 
they  tell  every  woman,  as  you  know  very  well,  my  dear,  that  she  is 
elegant,  beautiful,  and  accomplished. 

Candor.  It  is  not  then  surprising  that  they  should  hold  the  same 
language  to  Miss  H.,  whom  they  must  think  so  in  the  highest  degree. 
Don't  you  remember  how  all  the  gentlemen  were  in  her  praise  1 

Envy.  Well,  for  my  part,  I  do  not  think  the  men  half  so  good 
judges  of  female  beauty  as  the  women.  Miss  H.  has  too  great  a 
quantity  of  hair,  considering  how  small  her  head  is. 


ENVY    AND    CANDOR.  39 

Candor.  What  fault  do  you  find  with  her  person  ? 

Envy.  She  is  too  tall. 

i 

Candor.   She  is  not  above  an  inch  taller  than  yourself. 

Envy.  I  do  not  pretend  to  say  she  is  a  great  deal  too  tall. 

Candor.   Can  you  pretend  to  say  she  is  too  short  ? 

Envy.  She  is  neither  one  thing  nor  the  other  ;  one  does  not  know 
what  to  make  of  her. 

Candor.  That  settles  the  point  of  her  height ;  let  us  now  proceed 
to  her  face.  Do  you  not  find  something  very  engaging  in  her  counte- 
nance ? 

Envy.  Engaging,  do  you  call  it  ? 

Candor.  Yes,  I  call  it  engaging.     What  do  you  call  it  ? 

Envy.  She  is  apt,  indeed,  to  smile  ;  but  that  is  to  show  her  teeth. 

Candor.  She  would  not  smile  for  that  purpose,  however,  unless 
she  had  good  fine  teeth  ;  and  they  are  certainly  the  finest  I  ever  saw. 

Envy.  What  signifies  teeth  1 

Candor.  Well,  let  us  come  to  her  eyes.  What  do  you  think  oi 
them  1 

Envy.  They  are  not  black. 

Candor.  No  ;  but  they  are  the  sweetest  blue  in  nature. 

Envy.  Blue  eyes  have  been  long  out  of  fashion  ;  black  are  now  all 
the  mode 

Candor.  Blue  ones  are  coming  round  again  ;  for  those  of  Miss  H. 
are  much  admired. 

Envy.  Her  fortune  would  procure  her  admirers  among  the  men, 
although  she  had  no  eyes  at  all. 

Candor.  That  stroke  lights  entirely  on  the  men,  and  misses  the 
person  against  whom  it  was  aimed. 

Envy.  Aimed  !  I  have  no  ill-will  against  Miss  II. 

Candor.  I  am  glad  to  hear  it. 

Envy.    No  !    not  I  ;  why  should  I  ? 

Candor.  I  am  sure  I  can  not  tell. 

Envy.  She  never  did  me  any  injury. 

Candor.  I  was  afraid  she  had. 

Envy.  No,  not  in  the  least,  that  I  know  of.  I  dare  say  she  is  a 
good  enough  sort  of  a  girl ;  but  as  for  beauty,  her  pretensions  to  that 
are  very  moderate  indeed. 


TO     MISS    MARY     ESCARS 


Thou  art  beautiful,  young  lady !     On  thy  cheek 

Glows  the  rich  brown  of  fair  Italia's  girls, 
And  the  dark  tresses  shade  thy  forehead  meek, 
In  glossy  curls, 

Like  raven's  wings  spread  on  a  cask  of  pearls. 

And  'neath  the  dark-arched  'brow  thy  soft  eyes  glow. 
Like  stellar  gems  that  spangle  night's  "blue  throne  ; 

And  from  thy  rose-like  lips  thy  accents  flow. 
In  a  soft  tone, 
Calypso  and  her  nymphs  might  fancy  for  their  «.  wil 

Thy  sylph-like  step,  and  the  high  spiritual  air, 

Bespeak  the  presence  of  a  noble  mind  ; 
And  thy  calm  face  a  soul  devoid  of  care, 
Where  lie  enshrined. 

Like  costly  gems,  virtue  and  truth  combined. 

Brightness  attend  thee,  lady ;  may  the  founts 
Of  science  quench  thy  thirstings,  and  the  muse 

Lead  thee  to  poesy's  enchanted  mounts. 
And  round  diffuse 
Honors  and  blessings  pure  as  heav'n's  sparkling  dews 

As  slowly  winds  the  bright  meandering  stream. 

Through  landscapes  gemmed  with  forests  and  with  fiowe: 

Rich  as  the  pictures  of  a  painter's  dream. 
When  fancy's  bowers 
Are  pencilled  by  the  rosy-fingered  hours. 

So  glide  thy  life  through  friendship's  flow'ry  vale, 
Bright,  beautiful,  from  storm  and  tempest  free  ; 

Dimpled  in  smiles  by  fortune's  prosp'rous  gale, 
A  tranquil  sea, 
Bound  to  the  ocean  of  eternity. 

And  as  the  sun  in  western  skies  sinks  low. 

Dying  in  grandeur  on  his  throne  of  fire, 
While  evening's  tears  in  pearly  dew-drops  flow, 
And  round  his  pyre 

The  grief-flushed  clouds,  fade,  languish,  and  expire 

Such  be  thy  exit  —  round  thy  dying  head. 

May  virtue  shed  her  most  benignant. 
While  love  and  friendship  gather  round  thy  bed. 
And  mourn  thy  clay. 

About  to  "  rest  in  peace"  till  full  meridian  day. 


"  y 


THE    COQUETTE. 


BY  MISS  LUCY  E.  MILNOB. 


"  I  will  not  marry  yet,"  was  her  reply — her  face  half  averted 
from  the  kneeling  figure  beside  her,  whom  still  she  suffered  to  retain 
her  hand  —  whose  arm  still  encircled  her  waist,  unforbidden.  "  1  will 
not  marry  yet,''  and  love  was  in  the  tone  of  the  very  accents  that 
withheld  the  boon  of  love,  or  deferred  the  bestowal  of  it. 

James  Griswold  was  a  young  man  of  moderate  fortune;  accom- 
plished, unsophisticated,  and  of  quick  sensibilities.  A  student,  and 
fond  of  retirement,  he  had  selected  for  his  summer  residence  a  small 
hamlet  on  the  Long  Island  seacoast,  about  twenty  miles  from  New 
York,  where,  between  his  books  and  the  smooth  seashore,  along 
which  he  loved  to  ramble,  his  time  passed  anything  but  heavily. 
Here  he  had  resided  about  a  month,  when  the  little  community  re- 
ceived an  addition,  in  a  young  lady  and  her  mother,  Avho  joined  it  for 
the  purpose  of  a  temporary  residence  ;  and  young  Griswold  stepped 
back  in  surprise,  when,  issuing  one  morning  from  the  cabin  in  which 
he  lodged,  he  beheld  two  females,  in  the  attire,  and  with  the  air,  of 
fashion  —  the  one  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  the  other  —  approaching 
the  humble  portal  whence  he  had  just  emerged.  He  bowed,  how- 
ever, and  passed  on. 

He  had  scarcely  more  than  glanced  at  the  strangers,  but,  transient 
as  was  his  survey  of  them,  he  saw  that  one  of  them  was  an  in- 
valid—  the  younger.  "  How  touching  is  the  languor  which  indispo- 
sition casts  over  beauty  1M  exclaimed  Griswold  to  himself;  "health 
would  improve -the  loveliness  of  that  face,  but  the  interest  which  now 
invests  it  would  vanish.  No  visitation,"  he  continued,  "but  late 
hours  and  crowded  rooms  have  sent  her  hither — for  I  prophesy  she 
comes  to  make  some  stay."  He  was  right.  Griswold  returned  from 
his  ramble  earlier  than   was  his    custom.       His  thoughts   that  day 

6 


42  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

were  in  the  hamlet,  and  not  upon  the  shore.  lie  approached  his 
lodging  with  something  like  the  emotions  of  expectation  and  suspense. 

llr  looked  at  his  landlady,  on  entering,  as  it'  he  expected  her  to 
communicate  something  ;  and  was  disappointed  when  she  merely  re- 
turned the  ordinary  response  to  his  salutation.  He  entered  his  apart- 
ment dispirited,  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair  near  the  window,  the 
sash  of  which  he  threw  up,  as  if  he  wanted  air.  For  the  first  time 
he  felt  the  oppression  of  loneliness.  "  They  have  not  come  to  stop," 
said  he  to  himself,  and  absolutely  with  a  sigh  —  and  no  wonder!  In 
an  assembly,  a  lovely,  graceful,  and  delicate  woman,  beheld  for  the 
first  time,  would  have  exacted  from  him  only  the  ordinary  tribute 
which  beauty  shares  with  beauty  ;  but,  in  a  remote  little  fishing  ham- 
let, inhabited  by  beings  as  rude  as  their  neighbors,  the  sea  and  the 
rocks,  such  a  vision  could  hardly  come,  and  vanish,  without  leaving 
a  strong  impression  upon  the  beholder.  Young  Griswold  sat  abstract- 
ed, chagrinned  —  mortified. 

The  opening  of  a  window  in  a  cabin  opposite,  roused  him.  The 
sash  was  thrown  up  by  a  white  arm,  shining  through  a  sleeve  of 
muslin,  thin  as  gauze.  Presently  a  dimpled  elbow  reposed  upon  the 
sill,  and  a  cheek  of  pensive  sweetness  sank  upon  a  hand,  so  small, 
so  white,  that  it  seemed  to  have  been  modelled  for  no  other  office 
than  to  pillow  such  a  burden.  A  thrill  ran  through  his  frame,  quick- 
ening him  into  wakeful  life. 

How  the  hand  talks !  What  passion,  thought,  and  sentiment,  are 
in  it !  What  tongues  are  the  fingers  !  Oh !  the  things  that  the 
hand  which  this  young  man  sat  watching,  discoursed  to  him,  as  it 
changed  its  posture — now  with  the  palm,  now  with  the  back,  kissing 
its  owner's  cheek — now  extending  one  finger  upon  the  marbly,  ample 
temple — now  enwreathing  itself  with  one  jetty  curl  and  another  — 
now  passed  over  the  arched  bright  forehead — now  lowered,  and  lan- 
guidly drooping  from  the  window-frame,  upon  which  the  arm  to  which 
it  belonged  lay  motionless  —  then  raised  again,  with  slow  and  waving 
motion,  till  it  closed  with  the  cheek  that  half  met  it — then  gradually 
crossed  over  the  bosom  that  seemed  to  heave  with  a  sigh,  as  it  passed, 
and  pressed  to  the  heart — then  clasped  with  its  beauteous  fellow,  and 
carried  to  the  back  of  the  head,  the  full,  elastic  arms  swelling  and 
whitening  as  they  contracted  ! 


THE  COQUETTE.  43 

Grisvvolcl  gazed  on  entranced.  Hitherto,  tho  cheek  alone  of  the 
fair  invalid  had  been  presented  to  him,  but  now  her  head  turned  ;  her 
eyes  mot  his  and  dropped  —  she  rose  and  withdrew. 

Only  glimpses  of  her  did  Griswuld  catch  again  that  evening — but 
they  were  frequent.  A  hand  —  an  elbow  —  the  point  of  her  shoul- 
'  der  —  once  or  twice  her  figure,  flitting  backward  and  forward,  as  she 
paced  up  and  clown  the  apartment.  Dusk  fell ;  still  he  remained  at 
his  post,  Was  it  a  guitar  that  he  heard  ?  It  was  but  awakened  as 
the  first  tones  of  an  Eolian  harp,  which  you  hold  your  breath  to  hear. 
Her  hand  was  on  the  strings  ;  one  chord  at  length  she  struck  full  ; 
another  succeeded  —  and  another.  Then  all  was  silence  for  a  time. 
Griswold  still  remained  at  the  window  —  nor  in  vain.  The  music 
woke  again,  as  fairy  soft  as  before,  and  a  voice  —  soft  as  the  music, 
but  oh!  far  sweeter  —  awoke  along  with  it.  She  was  singing,  but 
he  could  hear  nothing  except  the  strain  ;  and  yet  he  heard  enough  to 
tell  him  that  it  was  the  theme  of  tenderness,  though  sung  by  fits,  that 
rather  seemed  to  help  than  mar  the  passionate  mood.  The  stars 
shone  out ;  the  moon,  in  her  first  quarter  half  completed,  showed  her 
bright  crescent  clear  though  setting ;  the  folds  of  a  white  drapery 
shone  dimly  through  the  still  open  casement.  Did  the  wearer  ap- 
proach, to  look  out  and  gaze  upon  the  fair  night?  No.  The  sash 
was  pulled  down  ;  the  string  and  the  voice  were  hushed  ;  the  inter- 
esting minstrel  had  retired.  Griswold  retired  too;  but  though  his 
head  was  upon  the  pillow,  not  a  moment  of  that  night  were  his  vision 
and  his  car  withdrawn  from  the  open  window. 

It  was  broad  day  before  forgetful ness  cast  her  spell  over  the  ex- 
cited spirits  of  young  Griswold,  nor  was  it  broken  till  high  noon. 
He  arose,  emerged  from  his  chamber,  and  took  an  anxious  survey  of 
the  habitation  opposite.  The  room  appeared  empty.  He  partook 
hastily  of  a  slight  repast,  and,  sallying  out,  made  his  way  to  the  sea- 
shore. He  had  not  proceeded  far,  when,  turning  a  point,  he  beheld 
the  elder  female  hi  advance  of  him,  standing  still  and  looking  anxious- 
ly upward  toward  a  projecting  summit,  some  hundred  yards  from  the 
shore.  He  followed  what  appeared  to  be  the  direction  of  her  eyes, 
and  saw  the  younger,  half  way  up,  reclining  upon  her  side.  Some- 
thing appeared  to  be  amiss.  He  quickened  his  pace,  and,  joining 
the  former,  learned  from  her,  that  her  daughter,  attempting  to  climb  to 


44  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

the  top  of  the  steep  hill,  had  incautiously  turned,  and,  unaccustomed 
to  look  from  a  height,  was  prevented  by  terror  from  proceeding  or 
descending  ;  that,  from  the  same  cause,  she  had  slipped  down  several 
feet ;  and  that  she,  herself,  durst  not  attempt  to  go  to  her  assistance. 
Griswold  had  heard  enough  ;  he  bounded  up  the  steep.  As  he  ap- 
proached the  fair  one,  modesty  half  overcame  terror,  and  she  made  a 
slight  effort  to  repair  the  disorder  into  which  her  dress  had  been 
thrown  by  the  accident.  The  young  man  assisted  her  to  complete 
what  she  had  effected  but  imperfectly  ;  he  encouraged  her,  raised  her, 
and,  propping  her  fair  form  with  his  own,  led  her,  step  by  step,  down 
to  the  beach  again.  Nor,  Avhen  she  was  in  perfect  safety,  did  he 
withdraw  his  assistance  —  nor  did  she  decline  it ;  though,  as  appre- 
hension subsided,  confusion  arose  —  coloring  her  pale  cheek  to  crim- 
son, at  the  recollection  of  the  plight  in  which  she  had  been  found. 
Her  ankle  was  slightly  sprained,  she  said,  having  turned  under  her 
when  she  slipped.  What  was  this,  if  not  a  Avarrant  for  the  proffer 
of  an  arm  ?  At  all  events,  Griswold  construed  it  as  such,  and  escort- 
ed the  fair  stranger,  leaning  upon  him,  back  to  her  lodgings.  From 
that  .moment  a  close  intimacy  commenced.  They  were  constantly 
together  —  sometimes  accompanied  by  the  mother  —  more  frequently, 
and  at  last  wholly  alone. 

In  the  midst  of  romantic  scenery,  where  there  is  no  impediment, 
no  distaste  on  either  side,  is  almost  sure  to  awaken,  and  to  foster  love. 
Young  Griswold  loved.  The  looks,  the  actions,  all  but  the  tongue  of 
Amelia  assured  him  that  his  passion  was  returned.  Her  health  had 
improved  rapidly  ;  the  autumn  was  advancing,  and  the  evenings  and 
nights  were  growing  chill.  The  mother  and  daughter  now  talked  of 
returning  to  New  York  ;  a  day  was  fixed  for  their  departure  —  and, 
on  the  eve  of  that  day,  young  Griswold  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of 
the  lovely  girl,  and  implored  her  to  bless  him  with  her  hand.  Yet, 
though  she  did  not  deny  that  he  had  interested  her — though  her  eyes 
and  her  cheek  attested  it — though  the  hand  which  was  locked  in  his, 
locked  his  as  well — though  she  suffered  him  to  draw  her  toward 
him,  by  the  tenure  of  her  graceful  waist  —  still  was  her  reply,  "  I  will 
not  marry  yet." 

Griswold  did  not  require  to  ask  if  his  visits  would  be  permitted  in 
town  —  he  was  invited  to  renew  them  there.     A  journey  to  Charles- 


THE    COQUETTE.  45 

ton,  however,  on  a  matter  of  pressing  necessity,  respecting  the 
affairs  of  a  friend,  prevented  his  return  for  a  month.  At  the  expira- 
tion of  that  time  he  found  himself  in  New  York,  and,  with  a  throb- 
bing heart,  repaired  to  the  habitation  of  Amelia's  father,  near  Union 
Square,  on  the  very  evening  of  his  arrival.  The  house  was  lighted 
up  —  there  was  a  ball.  He  wa*s  scarcely  dressed  for  a  party  ;  yet  he 
could  not  overcome  his  impgjience  to  behold  again  the  heroine  of  the 
Long  Island  shore.  He  rang,  at  the  same  moment  when  a  knot  of 
other  visiters  came  to  the  door,  and,  entering  along  with  them,  was 
ushered  into  a  ball-room,  the  footman  hurriedly  announcing  the  names 
of  the  several  parties.  The  dance  was  proceeding.  It  was  the 
whirling  waltz — 

The  dance  of  contact,  else 
-  Forbid !  abandoning  to  the  free  hand 
The  sacred  waist ;  while,  face  to  face,  that  breath 
Doth  kiss  with  breath,  and  eye  embraceth  eye  — 
Tour  transed  coil  relaxing,  straightening — round 
And  round,  in  wavy  measure,  you  entwine 
Circle  with  circle  —  till  the  swimming  brain 
And  panting  heart,  in  swoony  lapse,  give  o'er  ! 

It  was  the  waltz,  and  the  couple  consisted  of  a  man  of  the  town, 
and  —  Amelia. 

The  party  who  had  entered  with  Griswold  immediately  took  seats, 
but  he  stood,  transfixed  to  the  spot  where  his  eyes  first  caught  the 
form  of  the  young  lady,  in  the  coil  of  another.  She  saw  not  him. 
With  laughing  eyes,  and  cheeks  flushed  with  exertion,  she  continued 
the  measure  of  license — her  spirits  mounting  as  the  music  quick- 
ened— until  she  seemed  to  float  round  her  partner,  who  freely  availed 
himself  of  the  favorable  movement  of  the  step,  to  draw  her  toward 
him  in  momentary  pressure.  They  at  length  sat  down,  and  were 
soon  engaged  in  earnest  conversation.  Griswold  writhed.  He  re- 
tired to  a  room  where  he  thought  he  should  escape  observation,  and 
threw  himself  into  a  chair. 

"  Who  think  you,  now,  is  the  happy  man  ?"  said  one  of  a  group  of 
gentlemen  who  at  that  moment  came  into  the  apartment  Avhere  he  sat. 

"  Why,  who,  if  not  Singleton  !"  replied  another  ;  "  he  has  waltzed 
himself  into  her  heart.  This  is  the  twentieth  time  I  have  seen  her 
dance  with  him." 


46  AMERICAN    BOOK    OF    BF.AVTV. 

"  Oh !  another  will  waltz  him  out  of  her  heart,"  interposed  a  third  , 
"  she  is  an  incorrigible  coquette,  from  first  to  last." 

■e  the  party  separated.  Griswold  scarcely  knowing  what  he 
did,  after  sitting  abstracted  for  a  few  minutes,  rose  and  descended  the 
staircase. 

He  started  with  the  intention  of  quitting  the  house,  but  the  supper- 
room  had  been  just  thrown  open,  and  trffi  press  carried  him  in.  Nor 
was  he  allowed  to  stop,  until  he  had  reached  the  head  of  the  table. 
Every  seat  but  two,  close  to  where  he  stood,  was  occupied.  "  By 
your  leave,  sir,"  said  a  voice  behind  him.  He  stepped  back,  and  the 
waltzer  led  Amelia  to  one  of  them,  and  placed  himself  beside  her. 
Young  Griswold  would  have  retreated,  but  could  not  without  incom- 
moding the  company,  who  thickly  hemmed  him  in.  Amelia  drew  her 
gloves  from  the  white  arms  they  little  enhanced  by  covering — the 
waltzer  assisting  her,  and  transferring  them  to  the  custody  of  his 
bosom.  His  eyes  explored  the  table  in  quest  of  the  most  delicate  of 
the  viands,  which,  one  after  another  he  recommended  to  her,  until 
she  made  a  selection.  He  filled  a  wineglass  with  sparkling  Bur- 
gundy and  presented  it  to  her,  then  crowned  a  goblet,  till  the  liquid 
almost  overhung  the  brim — breathed  her  name  over  it  in  a  sigh  —  and 
quaffed  it  off  to  the  bottom  at  a  draught.  He  leaned  his  cheek  to 
hers,  till  the  neighbors  almost  touched.  He  whispered  her — and  she 
replied  in  whispers.  He  passed  his  arm  over  the  back  of  her  chair, 
partly  supplanting  it  in  the  office  of  supporting  her  shoulders.  He 
pressed  so  close  to  her,  that  it  would  have  been  the  same  had  both 
been  sitting  in  one  seat.  She  was  either  unconscious  of  the  familiar 
vicinity,  or  she  permitted  it.  The  whispering  continued  ;  the  word 
"  marriage"  was  uttered — repeated  —  repeated  again.  Griswold  heard 
her  distinctly  reply,  "  I  will  not  marry  yet,"  as  she  rose  —  and,  turn- 
ing, met  him  face  to  face. 

"  Griswold  !"  she  involuntarily  exclaimed.  But  he  spoke  not,  save 
with  his  eyes,  which  he  kept  fixed  steadfastly  upon  her. 

"  When  did  you  arrive  ?"  she  inquired  hurriedly,  and  in  extreme 
confusion. 

"  This  evening,"  replied  the  young  man,  without  removing  his 
eyes. 

"  When  did  you  join  our  party  ?" 


THE    COQUETTE.  47 

"  While  you  were  waltzing,"  returned  Griswold,  with  a  smile. 

"  And  how  long  have  you  been  standing  here  ?" 

"  Since  supper  commenced  j  I   made  way  for  your  partner  to  hand 
you  to  that'seat,  and  place  himself  beside  you." 

"  You  have  not  supped  !  sit  down,  and  I  will  help  you   to   s< 
thing." 

"No  !"  said  Griswold,  shaking  his  head,  and  smiling  again. 

"  My  mother  has  not  seen  you  yet;  come  and  speak  to  her." 

"  No ;  I  have  not  a  moment  to  spare.     I  leave  town  again  imme- 
diately." 

"  When  ?" 

"  To-night!     Farewell,"  said  he,  turning  to  go. 

''You,  surely,  are  not  going  yet,"  earnestly  interposed  Amelia. 

"  I  must  not  stay,"  emphatically  rejoined  Griswold.     "  For  one  ob- 
ject alone  I  came  to  town.     That  is  finally  disposed  of.     The  neces- 
sity for  my  departure  is  imperative.     Remember  me  to  your  m 
-night!"  he  added,  moving  toward  the  door. 

"  Have  you  been  well  ?"  she   inquired,   almost  tremulous!-.      He 
continued  his  progress  as  fast  as  the  throng  permitted  him,  aff 
not  to  hear  her.     She  followed,  laid  her  hand  upon   his  arm,  and 
stopped  him. 

"  You  surely  are  not  well  now,"  she  remarked,  in  a  tone  of  solici- 
tude. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  passing  on  till  he  reached  the  door. 

"Griswold!"  she  exclaimed,  heedless  of  those  who  surrou 
her,  "  stay  a  little  longer!  —  an  hour — half  an  hour — the  quart 
an  hour." 

Griswold  stopped,   and,  turning,  looked  upon  her  with  an  expres- 
sion so  tender,  yet  so  stern,  that  she  half  shrank  as  she  met  his 
"  Not  a  moment,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  should  be  only  a  clog  upon 
pastime.     I    do  not  waltz  !"     Then  snatched  her  hand —raised   it  to 
his  lips — kissed  it — and,  dropping  it,  hurried  down  the  staircas 
departed. 

Amelia  at  once  perceived  the  awkwardness  of  her  situation  —  re- 
covered her  self-possession  —  and,  with  well-dissembled  mirth,  affect- 
ed to  laugh. 

"A  poor  lunatic!"  she  .exclaimed,  "  whom  I  pity,  notwithstanding 


18  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

his  extravagant  aberrations  of  mind.  He  is  innocent  in  his  madness. 
But  conic,  Let  ns  forget  him." 

The  dance  was  resumed.  She  was  the  queen  of  the  mirthful 
hour,  that  shone,  surpassing  all.  She  laughed,  she  rallied,  she  chal- 
lenged, she  outdid  herself — her  spirits  towering  the  more,  the  more 
the  revel  waned.  Party  after  party  dropped  off;  still  she  kept  it  up, 
till  she  was  left  utterly  alone  —  and  then  she  rushed  up  to  her  cham- 
ber and  cast  herself  upon  a  couch,  dissolved  in  tears. 

She  loved  young  Griswold.  Vanity  had  been  touched  before  —  but 
never  sentiment,  till  she  visited  the  little  hamlet  on  Long  Island.  At 
first  she  could  not,  or  would  not,  persuade  herself  that  Griswold  would 
not  return  ;  but  a  month  set  that  point  perfectly  at  rest.  She  drooped. 
Society  —  amusement  —  nothing  could  rouse  her  into  her  former  self. 
Her  partner  in  the  waltz  in  vain  solicited  her  to  stand  up  with  him 
again.  She  declined  the  honor ;  his  visits  were  discouraged.  Her 
mother  anxiously  watched  the  depression  of  spirits  that  had  taken 
possession  of  her,  and  seemed  daily  to  increase.  The  winter  passed 
without  improvement — the  spring.  Summer  set  in;  bloom  and  fruit 
returned,  but  cheer  was  a  stranger  to  her  heart.  Change  of  scene 
was  recommended.  She  was  asked  to  make  choice  of  the  place 
whither  she  Avould  go ;  she  replied,  with  a  sigh,  "  to  the  Long  Island 
shore." 

She  and  her  mother  arrived  at  the  same  little  hamlet  which  they 
had  visited  the  summer  before,  early  on  a  Sunday  morning,  and  reoc- 
cupied  the  identical  lodgings.  The  landlady,  a  kind-hearted  creature, 
expressed  her  surprise  and  sorrow  at  the  altered  appearance  of  her 
delicate  young  lodger. 

"  Ah  !"  said  she,  "  the  young  gentleman  would  be  sorry  to  see 
this  —  though  he  has  had  his  turn  of  sickness  too ;  but  he  is  now 
quite  recovered." 

"  Mr.  Griswold  ?"  breathlessly  inquired  Amelia. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  landlady,  "  that  same  handsome,  kind,  young 
gentleman." 

"  Merciful  Heaven  !   is  he  here  ?"  she  vehemently  demanded. 

"  He  is,  my  lady,"  returned  the  landlady. 

"  Mother!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  turned  upon  the  latter  a  look,  in 
which  pleasure  was  painted  for  the  first  time  since  the  momentous 


THE    COQUETTE.  49 

night  of  the  ball.     "  Where  does  he  lodge ?"  asked  Amelia,  turning 
to  the  landlady. 

"  In  the  same  place.  He  came  back  about  a  month  after  he  left," 
added  the  landlady.  "  Poor  young  gentleman  !"  she  continued,  "  we 
all  thought  he  had  come  to  die  among  us  —  so  pale,  so  melancholy. 
He  would  keep  company  with  no  one — would  speak  to  no  one — and 
at  last  be  took  fairly  to  his  bed." 

Amelia  laid  her  head  upon  her  hand,  covering  her  eyes ;  her  tears 
had  begun  to  flow. 

"  But  the  daughter  of  our  neighbor,  who  had  a  rich  brother  that 
sent  his  niece  to  school  at  New  Haven,  and  had  determined  to  adopt 
her,  having  •  completed  her  time,  came  upon  a  visit  to  her  father, 
shortly  after  the  return  of  the  young  gentleman,  and  her  mother  made 
her  read  to  him  constantly,  to  divert  him  —  and  he  grew  fond  of  lis- 
tening to  her  —  and  well  he  might,  for  a  sweet  young  creature  she 
is  —  and  at  last  his  health  took  a  turn,  and  he  was  able  to  quit  his 
bed,  and  to  walk,  as  he  used  with  you,  my  dear  lady  —  rambling 
whole  hours  along  the  seashore  with  her." 

The  eyes  of  Amelia  were  now  lifted  to  the  landlady's  face.  Her 
tears  were  gone,  all  but  the  traces  of  them  ;  they  seemed  as  they 
were  glazed.  The  landlady  had  paused  at  the  sound  of  several 
voices,  and  a  kind  of  bustle  without,  and  noAV  ran  to  the  window. 

"  Come  hither,  ladies  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  they  are  just  coming  out." 

Amelia,  by  a  convulsive  effort,  rose,  and  hastily  approached  the 
window  with  her  mother. 

"  Here  they  come !"  resumed  the  landlady,  "  and  this  is  the  end 
of  my  story.  The  young  gentleman  at  last  fell  in  love  with  his  sweet 
young  nurse,  and  offered  to  marry  her.  She  had  already  fallen  in 
love  with  him ;  she  accepted  him,  and  this  very  morning  they  are 
going  to  church.  There  they  are  !  look !  did  you  ever  see  so  sweet. 
a  sight  ?  What  a  couple  !  God  bless  them !  They  were  made  for 
one  another !" 

The  landlady  started  and  looked  round.  Amelia  had  fallen  in  a 
swoon  upon  the  floor.  With  difficulty  they  recovered  her.  In  an 
hour  her  mother  was  on  her  way  with  her  toward  NeAv  York.  In  a 
month  she  was  dressed  in  a  shroud. 

7 


THE    YANKEE    SCHOOLMASTER 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CITY  OF  HUDSON. 


BY  J.    K.    PAULDING. 


The  city  of  Hudson  furnishes  one  of  those  examples  of  rapid  growth 
so  common  and  so  peculiar  to  our  country.  It  goes  back  no  further 
than  1784.  and  is  said  now  to  contain  nearly  six  thousand  inhabitants. 
But  towns,  like  children,  are  very  apt  to  grow  more  in  the  first  few 
years,  than  all  their  lives  after.  But  Hudson  has  a  bank,  which  is  a 
sort  of  wet-nurse  to  these  little  towns,  giving  them  too  often  a  preco- 
cious growth,  which  is  followed  by  a  permanent  debility.  The  town 
is  beautifully  situated,  and  the  environs  of  the  most  picturesque  and 
romantic  description.  There  are  several  pretty  country-seats  in  the 
neighborhood.  Here  ends,  according  to  the  law  of  nature,  the  ship- 
navigation  of  the  river  ;  but  by  a  law  of  the  legislature,  a  company  has 
been  incorporated,  with  a  capital  of  one  million  of  dollars  —  how  easy 
it  is  to  coin  money  in  this  way  ! — to  make  a  canal  to  New  Baltimore  : 
for  what  purpose,  only  legislative  wisdom  can  explain.  There  was 
likewise  an  incorporated  company,  to  build  a  mud-machine  for  deepen- 
ing the  river.  But  the  river  is  no  deeper  than  it  was,  and  the  canal  to 
New  Baltimore  is  not  made,  probably  because  the  million  of  dollars  is 
not  forthcoming.  One  may  pay  too  dear  for  a  canal  as  well  as  a 
whistle.  That  canals  are  far  better  than  rivers,  is  not  to  be  doubted  ; 
but  as  we  get  our  rivers  for  nothing,  and  pay  pretty  dearly  for  our  ca- 
nals, I  would  beg  leave  to  represent  in  behalf  of  the  poor  rivers,  that 
they  are  entitled  to  some  little  consideration,  if  it  is  only  on  the  score 
of  coming  as  free  gifts.  Hudson  is  said  to  be  very  much  infested  with 
politicians,  a  race  of  men,  who,  though  they  have  never  been  classed 
among  those  who  live  by  their  own  wits,  and  the  little  wit  of  their 
neighbors,  certainly  belong  to  the  genus. 


THE    YANKEE    SCHOOLMASTER.  51 

Hence  to  Albany  the  Hudson  gradually  decreases  in  magnitude, 
changing  its  character  of  a  mighty  river  for  that  of  a  pleasant  pastoral 
stream.  The  high  banks  gradually  subside  into  rich  flats,  portentous 
of  Dutchmen,  who  light  on  them  as  certainly  as  do  the  snipes  and 
plovers.  ••  Wisely  despising,"  observes  Alderman  Janson,*  "  the  bar- 
ren mountains,  which  are  only  made  to  look  at,  they  passed  up  on  the 
liver  from  Fort  Amsterdam,  till  they  arrived  hereabout,  and  here  they 
pitched  their  tents.  Their  descendants  still  retain  possession  of  the 
seats  of  their  ancestors,  though  sorely  beset  by  the  march  of  the  human 
mind,  and  the  progress  of  public  improvement  on  one  hand,  and  on  thp 
other  by  interlopers  from  the  modern  Scythia,  the  cradle  of  the  human 
race  in  the  new  world  —  Connecticut.  These  last,  by  their  pestilent 
scholarship,  and  mischievous  contrivances  of  patent  ploughs,  | 
thrashing-machines,  patent  corn-shellers,  and  patent  churns,  for  the 
encouragement  of  domestic  industry,  have  gone  near  to  overset  all  the 
statutes  of  St.  Nicholas.  The  honest  burghers  of  Coeymans,  Cox- 
sackie,  and  New  Paltz,  still  hold  out  manfully  ;  but  alas  !  the  women  — 
the  women  are  prone  to  backslidings  and  hankering  after  novclti 
Dutch  damsel  can't,  for  her  heart,  resist  a  Connecticut  schoolmaster. 
with  his  rosy  cheeks  and  store  of  scholarship,  and  even  honest  yffrow 
herself  chuckles  a  little  amatory  Dutch  at  his  approach  ;  simpering 
mightily  thereat,  and  stroking  down  her  apron.  A  goose  betrayed  - 
no,  I  am  wrong — a  goose  once  saved  the  capitol  of  Rome  ;  and  it  is 
to  be  feared  a  woman  will  finally  betray  the  citadels  of  Coeymans, 
Coxsackie,  and  New  Paltz,  to  the  schoolmasters  of  Connecticut,  who 
circumvent  them  with  outlandish  scholarship.  These  speculations," 
quoth  the  worthy  alderman,  "  remind  me  of  the  mishap  of  my  unfortu- 
nate great-uncle,  Douw  Van  Wezel,  who  sunk  under  the  star  of  one 
of  these  wandering  Homers." 

Douw,  and  little  Alida  Vander  Speigle,  had  been  playmates 
their  infancy — I  was  going  to  say  schoolmates,  but  at  that  time  there 
was  no  such  thing  as  a  school,  so  far  as  I  can  learn,  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, to  teach  the  young  varlets  to  chalk  naughty  words  on  walls  and 
fences,  which  is  all  that  learning  is  good  for,  for  aught  I  see.     Douw 

■  A  Merman  Nicholas  Nicodemus  Janson  was  the  flower  of  the  magistracy  of 
Coxsackie,  and  died  full  of  years  and  honor,  on  St.  Nicholas'  day.  in  the  year  ot 
our  Lord  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  twenty-seven. 


52  AMERICAN    BOOK    OF    BEAUTY. 

was  no  scholar,  so  there  was  no  danger  of  his  getting  into  the  state 
-on  for  forgery;  but  it  requires  but  little  learning  to  fall  in  love. 
Alida  had,  however,  stayed  a  Avhole  winter  in  York,  where  she  learned 
.0  talk  crooked  English,  and  cock  her  pretty  little  pug  nose  at  our 
good  old  customs.  They  were  the  only  offspring  of  their  respective 
p-  rents,  whose  farms  lay  side  by  side,  squinting  plainly  at  matrimony 
veen  the  young  people.  Douw  and  Alida  went  to  church  together 
every  Sunday  ;  wandered  into  the  churchyard,  where  Alida  read  the 
epitaphs  for  him  ;  and  it  was  the  talk  of  everybody  that  it  would  cer- 
tainly be  a  match.  Douw  was  a  handsome  fellow  for  a  Dutchman, 
though  he  lacked  that  effeminate  ruddiness  which  seduces  poor  igno- 
rant women.  He  had  a  stout  frame,  a  bluish  complexion,  straight 
black  hair,  eyes  of  the  color  of  indigo,  and  as  honest  a  pair  of  old- 
fashioned  mahogany  bannister  legs,  as  you  would  wish  to  see  under  a 
man.  It  was  worth  while  to  make  good  legs  then,  when  every  man 
wore  breeches,  and  some  of  the  women  too,  if  report  is  to  be  credited. 
Alida  was  the  prettiest  little  Dutch  damsel  that  ever  had  her  stocking 
filled  with  cake  on  new  year's  eve,  by  the  blessed  St.  Nicholas.  I 
will  not  describe  her,  lest  my  readers  should  all  fall  in  love  with  her, 
or  at  all  events  weep  themselves  into  Saratoga  fountains,  when  they 
come  to  hear  of  the  disastrous  fate  of  poor  Douw,  whose  destiny  it 
was  —  but  let  us  have  no  anticipations;  sufficient  for  the  day  is  the 
evil  thereof. 

It  was  new  year's  eve,  and  Douw  was  invited  to  see  out  the  old  year 
at  Judge  Vander  Speigle's,  in  the  honest  old  Dutch  way,  under  the 
especial  patronage  of  St.  Nicholas.  There  were  glorious  doings  among 
the  young  folks,  and  the  old  ones  too,  for  that  matter,  till  one  or  two,  or 
perhaps  three  in  the  morning,  when  the  visiters  got  into  their  sleighs 
andskirred  away  home,  leaving  Douw  and  the  fair  Alida  alone  —  or  as 
good  as  alone,  for  the  judge  and  the  yffrow  were  as  sound  as  a  church, 
in  the  two  chimney-corners.  If  wine  and  French  liquors,  and  such 
trumpery,  make  a  man  gallant  and  adventurous,  what  will  not  hot- 
spiced  Santa  Cruz  achieve  ?  Douw  was  certainly  a  little  flustered  ; 
perhaps  it  might  be  predicated  of  him  that  he  was,  as  it  were,  a  little 
tipsey.  Certain  it  is,  he  waxed  brave  as  a  Dutch  lion.  I'll  not  swear 
but  that  he  put  his  arm  round  her  waist,  and  kissed  the  little  Dutch 
girl ;  but  I  will  swear  positively,  that  before  the  parties  knew  whether 


THE    VANKEE    SCHOOLMASTER.  53 

they  were  standing  on  their  heads  or  feet,  they  had  exchanged  vows, 
and  become  irrevocably  engaged.  Whereupon  Douvv  waked  the  old 
judge,  and  asked  his  consent  on  the  spot.  "  Yaw,  yaw,"  yawned  the 
judge,  and  fell  fast  asleep  again  in  a  twinkling.  Nothing  but  the  last 
trumpet  would  rouse  the  yffrow  till  morning. 

In  the  morning,  the  good  yffrow  was  let  into  the  affair,  and  began 
to  bestir  herself  accordingly.  I  can  not  count  the  sheets,  and  table- 
cloths, and  towels,  the  good  woman  mustered  out,  nor  describe  the 
preparations  made  for  the  expected  wedding.  There  was  a  cake 
baked,  as  big  as  Kaatskill  mountain,  and  mince-pies  enough  to  cover 
it.  There  were  cakes  of  a  hundred  nameless  names,  and  sweetmeats 
enough  to  kill  a  whole  village.  All  was  preparation,  anticipation,  and 
prognostication.  A  Dutch  tailor  had  constructed  Douw  a  suit  of  snuff- 
color,  that  made  him  look  like  a  great  roll  of  leaf-tobacco  ;  and  a  York 
milliner  had  exercised  her  skill  in  the  composition  of  a  wedding-dress 
for  Alida,  that  made  the  hair  of  the  girls  of  Coeymans  and  Coxsackie 
stand  on  end.  All  was  ready,  and  the  day  appointed.  But,  alas  !  I 
wonder  no  one  has  yet  had  the  sagacity  to  observe,  and  proclaim  to 
the  world,  that  all  things  in  this  life  are  uncertain,  and  that  the  antici- 
pations of  youth  are  often  disappointed. 

Just  three  weeks  before  the  wedding,  there  appeared  in  the  village 
of  Coxsackie  a  young  fellow,  dressed  in  a  three-cornered  cocked  hat, 
a  queue  at  least  a  yard  long  hanging  from  under  it,  tied  up  in  an  eel- 
skin,  a  spruce  blue  coat,  not  much  the  worse  for  wear,  a  red  waistcoat, 
corduroy  breeches,  handsome  cotton  stockings,  with  a  pair  of  good 
legs  in  them,  and  pumps  with  silver  buckles.  His  arrival  was  iiive 
the  shock  of  an  earthquake,  he  being  the  first  stranger  that  had  up 
peared  within  the  memory  of  man.  He  was  of  a  goodly  height,  weli 
shaped,  and  had  a  pair  of  rosy  cheeks,  which  no  Dutch  damsel  evei 
could  resist ;  for  to  say  the  truth,  our  Dutch  lads  are  apt  to  be  a  little 
dusky  in  the  epidermis. 

He  gave  out  that  he  was  come  to  set  up  a  school,  and  teach  the 
little  chubby  Dutch  boys  and  girls  English.  The  men  set  their  laces 
against  this  monstrous  innovation! — but  the  women!  the  women! 
they  always  will  run  after  novelty,  and  they  ran  after  the  schoolmas- 
ter, his  red  checks,  and  his  red  waistcoat.  Yffrow  Vander  Speigle 
contested  the  empire  of  the  world  within  doors,  with  his  honor  the 


54  AMERICAN  BOOK  OK  BEAUTY. 

judge,  and  bore  a  divided  reign.  She  was  smitten  with  a  desire  to 
become  a  blue-stocking  herself,  or  at  least  that  her  daughter  should. 
The  yffcow  was  the  bell-wether  of  fashion  in  the  village  ;  of  course, 
many  other  yffirows  followed  her  example,  and  in  a  little  time  the  lucky 
schoolmaster  was  surrounded  by  half  the  grown-up  damsels  of  Cox- 
sackie. 

Alida  soon  became  distinguished  as  his  favorite  scholar  ;  she  was 
the  prettiest,  the  richest  girl  in  the  school  —  and  she  could  talk  Eng- 
lish, which  the  others  were  only  just  learning.  He  taught  her  to  read 
poetry — he  taught  her  to  talk  with  her  eyes — to  write  love-letters  — 
and  at  last  to  love.  Douw  was  a  lost  man  the  moment  the  schoolmas- 
ter came  into  the  village.  He  first  got  the  blind  side  of  the  daughter, 
and  then  of  the  yffrow — but  he  found  it  rather  a  hard  matter  to  get 
the  blind  side  of  the  judge,  who  had  heard  from  his  brother  in  Albany 
what  pranks  these  Connecticut  boys  were  playing  there.  He  discour- 
aged the  schoolmaster,  and  he  encouraged  Douw  to  press  his  suit, 
which  Alida  had  put  off,  and  put  off,  from  time  to  time.  She  was 
sick — and  not  ready  —  and  indifferent — and  sometimes  cross — 

Douw  smoked  his  pipe  harder  than  ever  at  her  ;  but  she 
resisted  like  a  heroine. 

In  those  times  of  cheap  simplicity,  it  was  the  custom  of  the  country 
for  the  schoolmaster  to  board  alternately  with  the  parents  of  his  schol- 
ars, a  week  or  a  fortnight  at  a  time  ;  and  it  is  recorded  of  these  learned 
Thebans,  that  they  always  stayed  longer  where  there  was  a  pretty 
daughter,  and  plenty  of  pies  and  sweetmeats.  The  time  at  last  came 
round,  when  it  was  the  schoolmaster's  turn  to  sojourn  with  Judge 
Vander  Speigle  the  allotted  fortnight,  sorely  to  the  gloomy  forebodings 
of  Douw,  who  began  to  have  a  strong  suspicion  of  the  cause  of  Alida's 
coldness.  The  schoolmaster  knew  which  side  his  bread  was  but- 
tered, and  laid  close  siege  to  the  yffrow,  by  praising  her  good  things, 
exalting  her  consequence,  and  depressing  that  of  her  neighbors.  Nor 
did  he  neglect  the  daughter,  whom  he  plied  with  poetry,  melting  looks, 
and  significant  squeezes,  and  all  thai  ;  although  all  that  was  quite  un- 
necessary, for  she  was  ready  to  run  away  with  him  at  any  time.  But 
this  did  not  suit  our  Homer ;  he  might  be  divorced  from  the  acres,  if 
he  married  without  the  consent  of  the  judge.  He,  however,  continued 
to  administer  fuel  to  the  flame,  and  never  missed  abusing  poor  Douw 


THE    YANKEE    SCHOOLMASTER.  55 

to  his  face,  without  the  latter  being  the  wiser  for  it,  he  not  understand- 
ing a  word  of  English. 

By  degrees  he  opened  the  matter  to  the  yffrow,  who  liked  it  ex- 
ceedingly, for  she  was,  as  we  said  before,  inclined  to  the  mysteries 
of  blue-stockingism,  and  was  half  in  love  with  his  red  waistcoat  and 
red  checks.  Finally,  she  told  him,  in  a  significant  way,  that  as  there 
were  two  to  one  in  his  favor,  and  the  old  judge  would,  she  knew,  never 
consent  to  the  marriage  while  he  could  help  it,  the  best  thing  he  could 
do  was  to  go  and  get  married  as  soon  as  possible,  and  she  would  bear 
them  out.  That  very  night  Douw  became  a  disconsolate  widower, 
although,  poor  fellow  !  he  did  not  know  of  it  till  the  next  morning. 
The  judge  stormed  and  swore,  and  the  yffrow  talked  ;  till  at  length  he 
allowed  them  to  come  and  live  in  the  house,  but  with  the  proviso  that 
they  were  never  to  speak  to  him,  nor  he  to  them.  A  little  grandson, 
in  process  of  time,  healed  all  these  internal  divisions.  They  christ- 
ened him  Adrian  Vander  Speigle,  after  his  grandfather ;  and  when 
it  came  to  pass  that  the  old  patriarch  died,  the  estate  passed  from 
the  Vander  Speigles  to  the  Longfellows,  after  the  manner  of  men. 

Poor  Douw  grew  melancholy,  and  pondered  sometimes  whether  he 
should  not  bring  his  action  for  breach  of  promise,  fly  the  country  for 
ever,  turn  Methodist,  or  many  under  the  nose  of  the  faithless  Alida, 
"  on  purpose  to  spite  her."  He  finally  decided  on  the  latter,  married 
a  little  Dutch  brunette  from  Kinderhook,  and  prospered  mightily  in 
posterity,  as  did  also  his  neighbor,  Philo  Longfellow.  But  it  was  ob- 
served, that  the  little  Van  Wezels  and  the  little  Longfellows  never 
met  without  fighting ;  and  that  as  they  grew  up,  this  hostility  gathered 
additional  bitterness.  In  process  of  time,  the  village  became  divided 
into  two  factions,  which  gradually  spread  wherever  the  Yankees  and 
the  Dutch  mixed  together  ;  and  finally,  like  the  feuds  of  the  Guel- 
phus  and  Ghibelines,  divided  the  land  for  almost  a  hundred  miles 
around. 


THE  EMPEROR'S  DAUGHTER. 


Blessed  was  the  artist's  hands  that  "bad© 

Those  features  on  thy  surface  shine. 
And  with  advent'rous  skUl  portrayed 

That  form,  and  made  thee  -what  thou  art,  divine  : 
And  heav'n-born  was  the  art  that  made  thee  hear 
Those  eyes,  and  that  fair  face  that  have  no  equals  here 

What  though  the  Coan  artist  drew. 

And  Venus  gave  to  mortal  eye, 
A  thousand  such  as  thee  in  view, 

And  thy  "bright  teints  with  his  may  safely  vie  : 
Immodest  "beauties  from  Ms  pencil  shine. 
But  thou  art  chasteness  all,  and  purer  charms  are  thine 

What  though  the  huge  Colossus  rears 

Ahove  fair  Rhodes  his  towering  height, 
And  on  his  giant  forehead  hears 

The  image  of  yon  glorious  orh  of  light ; 
A  tnousand  suns  in  thee  as  "brightly  gleam. 
Thine  eyes  are  even  suns,  and  shed  as  "bright  a  beam 


ETi'lfiJR 


THE    STOUT    GENTLEMAN. 

A  STORY  OF  AN  OMNIBUS-DRIVER. 

I  detest  an  up-town  residence.  True,  it  is  pleasant  when  you 
get  there,  but  as  my  income  will  not  warrant  a  coach  establishment, 
I  am  now  reluctantly  compelled  to  take  a  daily  passage  at  dusk  by 
the  30th-street  line  of  omnibuses.  In  pleasant  weather  this  mode  of 
travelling  is  rather  agreeable ;  but  in  a  rainy  or  drizzly  night,  the 
Fates  protect  me  from  hunting  up  a  seat  in  an  omnibus.  Last  Tues- 
day I  tried  the  experiment  for  the  fortieth  time,  and  after  standing  for 
nearly  an  hour  under  the  awning  in  front  of  Peale's  Museum  in  Broad- 
way, I  espied  a  vehicle,  whose  driver  had  a  most  singularly  good- 
natured  look,  and  who,  I  verily  believed,  would  pity  my  desolate  con- 
dition, notwithstanding  I  noticed  that  his  vehicle  contained  the  full 
complement  of  twelve  inside.  Emboldened  by  his  appearance,  I 
beckoned  to  him,  and  my  anticipations  were  agreeably  confirmed  by 
his  promptly  reining  in  his  steeds.  After  a  short  parley  I  was  reluc- 
tantly permitted  to  mount  the  box,  with  my  umbrella  spread.  I  was 
not  mistaken  in  the  physiognomy  of  the  omnibus-driver.  He  had  a 
liberal  share  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness,  and  withal  was  exceed- 
ingly talkative.  We  had  scarcely  proceeded  three  blocks,  when  he 
had  given  mc  his  opinion  concerning  all  sorts  of  subjects,  persons, 
and  things  in  general. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  he,  "  you  thought  it  singular  that  I  didn't  wish 
you  to  get  up  on  the  driver's  seat,  when  you  hailed  me  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I  inquiringly. 

"  Perhaps,  then,  you  would  like  to  hear  the  reason." 

"  Yes,"  I  again  answered,  "  for  I  am  sorry  to  have  annoyed  so 
obliging  a  person." 

"  No  trouble,  I  assure  you,  sir ;  but  the  fact  is,  we  drivers  must 
have  rules,  or  on  nights  like  this  we  might  be  crowded  out  of  our 
seats." 

8 


58  AMERICAN*  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

"  Surely  the  seat  is  very  commodious,"  replied  I,  "  three  persons 
may  Bit  here  with  case,  and  I  can  see  no  objection  to  taking  one  out- 
side passenger  at  any  time." 

"  All  gentlemen  ain't  alike,  you  know,"  responded  the  obliging 
driver,  "  and  could  you  but  see  the  stout  man  who  used  to  ride  up 
here,  you  wouldn't  blame  us  for  refusing  to  take  up  anybody  on  the 
outside." 

"  Indeed,"  replied  I,  "  who  is  he  ?" 

"  That's  more  than  I  know  •  but  he  told  me  how  he  came  to  his 
size,  and  it's  a  queer  story — why,  sir,  he  could  not  get  through  that 
door  there  by  more  than  ten  inches !" 

I  expressed  my  astonishment  at  these  dimensions  of  the  discarded 
outside  passenger,  and  the  driver  continued  : 

"  The  first  time  that  this  fat  man  got  on  my  vehicle,  I  noticed  he 
was  a  very  agreeable  talker,  but  I  lost  two  days  in  repairing  the  for- 
ward springs,  and  that  cost  me  fourteen  shillin',  you  know." 

"  I  dare  say,  driver,"  said  the  fat  man  to  me,  at  our  first  meeting 
"  that  you  haven't  seen  many  men  of  greater  bulk  than  myself." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  I,  "I  never  came  across  one  who  couldn't  get 
inside  before,  and  it  isn't  over  comfortable  riding  here  so  crowded, 
and  with  a  heavy  load." 

"  So  I  supposed,"  rejoined  he.  "  I  hoped  such  would  be  your  reply. 
For  I'd  have  you  know  that  I'm  proud  of  the  distinction  which  my 
lai  confers." 

"  Like  most  distinctions,  though,"  observed  I,  "  you  must  feel  the 
weight  of  it  irksome  now  and  then." 

"  I  do,"  replied  he,  "  particularly  in  hot,  muggy  weather.  It's  also 
inconvenient"  he  continued,  "  in  many  ways.  Sometimes,  when  I 
beckon  a  cab  from  the  stand,  the  driver  shakes  his  head  and  says 
he's  engaged.  If  I  hail  an  omnibus,  the  driver  is  sure  not  to  notice 
me.  In  narrow,  crowded  thoroughfares  I'm  looked  upon  as  a  positive 
obstruction  and  public  nuisance.  In  Nassau  street,  one  day,  I  hap- 
pened to  stop  to  look  at  some  political  caricatures,  when  the  shop- 
keeper hailed  me,  just  as  he  would  the  driver  of  a  heavy  wagon, 
with  '  Come,  go  ahead,  sir ;  we  can't  have  the  street  blocked  up  to 
please  your  fancy.'  I  never  could  travel  by  a  mail-coach  in  all  my 
life  ;  the  proprietors,  one  and  all,  made  some  objection  to  my  luggage, 


THE    STOUT    GENTLEMAN.  59 

even  if  I  carried  but  a  small  brown  paper  parcel.  '  It  won't  do,'  they 
used  to  say,  '  it  won't  do  ;  we  can't  delay  the  mail  with  so  much 
luggage.'  In  railroad  cars  I  Tare  somewhat  better,  though  the  Great 
Western  road  charged  me  for  two  seats  the  last  time  1  travelled  that 
way.  When  I  go  to  a  theatre,  or  any  other  place  of  public  amuse- 
ment, first  I'm  asked  to  sit  '  this  way,'  then  '  a  little  more  that,'  until 
I'm  screwed  into  all  in  inner  of  shapes,  and  there  I  am,  perhaps,  at 
last,  sitting  with  my  back  to  the  stage,  squinting  out  of  the  corners 
of  my  eyes  in  the  most  uncomfortable  manner  possibly  to  be  imagined. 
But,  notwithstanding  these  drawbacks,  I  glory  in  my  superior  S] 
gravity,  over  the  rest  of  my  fellow-creatures.  There's  a  joy  which 
all  stout  men  feel  in  glancing  at  their  shadows  in  the  sun,  which  thin 
ones  have  not  the  capacity  of  entertaining.  We  are  compelled  to 
assume  an  air  of  dignity  in  our  gait,  and  the  very  assumption  instils 
the  feeling.  Oh,  yes  !  driver,"  said  he,  "  you  may  rest  assured  if  a 
man  of  discreet  years  wishes  to  be  on  superlatively  good  terms  with 
himself — which  is  the  most  desirable  affection  that  he  can  foster  — 
he  must  cultivate  an  unbounded  stomach." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  sir,"  replied  I,  "  that  a  solid,  portly  man  is  more 
good-looking,  and  consequently  more  to  my  taste,  than  your  cadaver- 
ous, bloodless,  transparent,  vinegar-fed,  milk-an'-water,  doughy,  ill- 
bred,  foreignish-looking  varmint." 

"  To  be  sure  he  is,"  rejoined  the  stout  gentleman.  "  To  be  sure  he 
is.  And,  as  to  which  of  the  two  is  the  most  comfortable  to  himself, 
I  can  answer  from  experience." 

"  Were  you  ever  lean,  then  ?"  inquired  I. 

"  As  Romeo's  poison-vender,"  replied  he  ;  "  indeed,  he  was  a  well- 
fed  citizen,  compared  to  what  I  was  three  years  since." 
"  How  did  you  come  to  pick  up  so  ?"  asked  I. 
"  It's  a  singular  story,"  returned  the   fat   man,  smiling,  "  but  not  a 
very  long  one." 

Observing  that  "  I  should  like  to  hear  it,  if  there  was  time,"  he 
said  : 

"  With  all  my  heart.  Not  long  since  I  was,  as  I  am  now,  in  good 
healthy  condition,  both  in  body  and  mind.  When  I  put  my  heel  upon 
a  daisy,  there  was  full  three  hundred  weight  upon  the  flower,  which 
I  consider  to  be  good  honest  weight  for  a   man  in  the  prime  of  hi. 


60  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

days.  Few  individuals,  if  any,  put  more  rich  food  under  their  waist- 
coats, drank  more  good  brandy  and  iced  Croton,  thought  less,  slept 
more,  and  laughed  louder  and  longer,  than  I  did.  But  change  is  the 
essence  of  the  mutable  laws  which  govern  all  things  pertaining  to 
numanitv.  If  we  do  not  of  ourselves  'work  the  oracle,'  that  which 
we  term  chance  —  miscalled  destiny — is  certain  to  effect  it. 

"  For  some  time  I  had  been  lodging  at  a  '  genteel  boarding-house' — 
as  it  was  described  in  the  advertisements  when  vacancies  occurred  — 
in  Beekman  street.  Like  most  such  places  in  such  localities,  it  was 
occupied  by  merchants'  clerks,  law  students,  occasionally  an  old  maid 
or  a  widow,  with  very  small  means,  a  respectable  single  gentleman 
or  two,  and  an  adventurer,  with  large  mustaches  and  limited  ward- 
robe. This  latter  individual  was  the  lion  of  the  establishment,  until 
it  was  discovered  that  his  estates  in  England  returned  so  very  small 
a  rent-roll,  and  that  neither  the  landlady  nor  the  washerwoman  could 
extract  the  amount  of  their  respective  claims,  notwithstanding  the 
superlative  excellence  of  their  elocutionary  powers  in  the  art  of  dun- 
ning. 

"  I  had  been  an  inmate  of  this  menagerie  for  little  more  than  a 
year,  when  an  eccentric-looking,  mysterious  person  came  to  fill  up 
'  a  vacancy'  recently  caused  by  the  English  landholder  being  taken  to 
the  Tombs  on  suspicion  of  picking  somebody's  pocket  at  the  lower 
post-office.  He  Avas  a  tall,  slim  individual,  bearing  the  appearance 
of  having  been  starved  upon  principle  from  the  hour  of  Ms  birth. 
Pale,  meager,  and  sunk,  were  his  jaws,  which  elongated  to  a  point, 
and  his  neck  was  scraggy,  and  little  less  than  an  impoverished  heron's. 
His  eyes  were  set  close  together,  and  were  as  black  and  glowing 
and  twinkling  as  a  snake's  when  contemplating  the  seizure  of  some 
unsuspecting  frog,  croaking  his  love  to  his  mate  in  the  summer's  sun. 
Bald' and  polished  as  oiled  mahogany  was  his  flat  and  compressed 
head,  while  a  few  straight,  long  bristles  were  carefully  combed  from 
the  back,  and  brought  over  the  ears.  A  straight  line  chalked  upon  a 
slate  would  faithfully  describe  his  figure.  From  his  contracted,  nar- 
row shoulders  to  his  protruding  heels,  there  was  no  deviation  from 
the  perpendicular.  All  was  even.  Round  his  throat  a  small  leather 
stock  was  buckled,  so  that  the  ends  did  not  meet  behind,  and  his 
costume  was  always  black  from  head  to  foot. 


THE    STOUT    GENTLEMAN.  61 

"  For  some  days  after  his  arrival,  I  knew  nothing  more  of  the  new 
comer  than  that  he  was  addressed  as  Dr.  Gagem.  At  the  table  he 
was  very  silent,  and,  as  it  was  my  custom  to  retire  to  my  private 
room  alter  dinner  to  discuss  my  bottle,  I  had  but  little  of  his  conversa- 
tion or  society. 

"  Some  three  weeks  had  elapsed  since  his  becoming  my  fellow- 
boarder,  when  I  noticed  that  everybody  in  the  house,  more  especially 
the  ladies,  began  to  appear  excessively  unwell.  None  of  them  could 
eat,  and  all  looked  white,  thin,  and  low-spirited.  I  inquired  of  one 
or  two  what  occasioned  this  change,  and  received  for  a  reply,  that 
1  they  were  under  the  advice  of  Dr.  G.' 

"  '  The  sooner  you're  from  under  it  the  better  then.'  rejoined  I.  'if 
I  can  judge  from  appearances.' 

" '  You'll  think  differently  soon,'  said  my  fair  informants.  '  Ah, 
sir  !'  sighed  they,  '  do  consult  the  doctor.' 

" '  Thank  ye,'  returned  I,  '  but  while  I  continue  as  I  am,  I'll  take 
no  advice  to  improve  my  health.' 

"  One  evening  I  was  sitting  comfortably  alone  before  a  cheerful  fire 
in  my  own  snuggery.  A  bottle  of  fine  old  port  wine  was  my  only 
companion,  and  there  it  stood  on  the  table,  close  to  my  elbow,  with 
its  crimson  blood  sparkling  in  the  blaze  —  temptation  personified.  I 
had  just  drawn  the  cork,  and  was  gurgling  the  first  glass  from  the 
gray  cobwebbed  neck  of  the  black  bottle,  when  a  gentle  tap  w-as  heard 
at  the  door  of  my  apartment. 

"  '  Come  in,'  said  I,  surprised  at  the  interruption. 

"  The  door  opened,  and  in  stalked  Dr.  Gagem. 

" '  Pardon  this  intrusion,'  observed  he,  bowing  and  smiling,  '  but  I 
have  something  to  communicate  which  will  not  bear  longer  procrasti- 
nation.' 

"  '  Pray  be  seated,'  replied  I,  offering  him  a  chair.  '  I  shall  be  glad 
to  hear  anything  you  may  have  to  say.' 

" '  You're  very  stout,  sir,'  said  the  doctor,  occupying  a  chair  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  table. 

"  '  I  am,  thank  God,'  replied  I.  '  Will  you  take  a  glass  of  wine, 
doctor  V 

"  He  waved  his  hand.     '  Not  for  worlds,  sir,'  rejoined  he.     '  It  is 


62  AMERICAN'  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

to  warn  you  from  such  poison  that  I  have  intruded  upon  your  privacy. 
Delay  is  death  .'' 

"  These  three  last  words  were  delivered  in  the  most  solemn  and 
deliberate  manner. 

"  •  Delay  is  death  !'  repeated  I,  more  amazed  than  alarmed. 

"  '  And  no  mistake,'  added  he. 

"  '  What  do,  what  can  you  mean,  sir?'  asked  I. 

"  '  The  aegis  of  friendship,'  returned  the  doctor,  '  is  the  only  pro- 
tector from  destruction  or  injury.  I've  come  here  this  evening  to 
place  my  shield  between  you  and  sudden,  premature  decease.' 

"  '  Good  God,  sir  !'  I  exclaimed,  '  am  I  going  to  be  assassinated  ?' 

"  '  You  are/  coolly  replied  he. 

"  '  Heaven  protect  me  !     By  whom,  and  for  what  V 

"  The  doctor  smiled.     '  By  your  own  hand,'  he  replied. 

"'Faugh!  pooh,  pooh!'  returned  I.  'Not  while  good  fat  roast 
beef  and ' 

"  *  I  know  what  you  would  say,'  interrupted  the  doctor.  '  But  listen. 
It  is  the  good  cheer,  as  it  ignorantly  is  termed,  which  kills  seven 
tenths  of  the  population  of  this  city.  Where  one  dies  of  starvation  — 
and  I  believe  a  few  do  yield  their  immaterial  spirits  to  mingle  with  the 
thinner  air,  by  the  necessitous  code  of  total  abstinence  —  ninety-and- 
nine  go  off  from  eating  and  drinking  to  excess.  It  has  been  my 
pleasing  and  self-imposed  duty  for  some  years  past,  to  study  the  pre- 
ventives for  cutting  short  the  thread  of  life,  and  I  feel  a  conscious 
pride  in  being  able  to  say  that  my  arduous  labors  have  been  crowneO 
with  success.  These  pills,'  continued  he,  taking  a  box  from  his  waist- 
coat pocket,  '  are  composed  of  a  powerfully  cathartic,  but  innoxious 
vegetable.  Take  them,  sir,  from  the  hand  of  a  disinterested  friend. 
I  take  no  fees.  My  only  reward  is  the  pleasure  of  plucking  the 
falling  man  from  the  yawning  abyss.  I  know,  from  my  professional 
observation,  that  the  lease  of  your  life  is  nearly  run  out.  Take  a 
dozen  of  those  pills  night  and  morning  —  let  your  diet  consist  of 
brown  gagem  bread,  and  vegetables,  exclusively — and  when  the  pills 
are  gone,  'come  to  me  for  more.  If  you  are  not  a  very  different  man 
at  the  end  of  one  little  month  to  what  you  are  now,  say,  sir,  that 
I'm  no  judge  of  physic  or  diet.' 


THE    STOUT    GENTLEMAN.  63 

"  '  But,  doctor,'  replied  I,  expostulating,  '  I  never  felt  better  in  my 
life.     Why  should  I  take  physic,  or  change  my  mode  of  living?' 

"  '  By  the  same  rule  that  the  mariner  furls  his  sails  before  the  storm 
bursts,'  replied  he.  '  Medicine,  sir,  should  be  taken  more  frequently 
as  a  preventive  than  by  way  of  cure.' 

"  '  That  may  be  very  true,'  rejoined  I.  '  But,  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, I  see  no  reason  for  fear.  I'm  just  as  I've  been  for  the  last 
fourteen  years.' 

"  '  Do  not  flatter  yourself  that,  because  the  danger  has  not  appear- 
ed, it  will  not,'  added  the  doctor.  •  I  beg  now  to  apprize  you  that  the 
germes  of  apoplexy  are  about  to  spring.  Be  warned  in  time.  Leave 
off  animal  food,  beer,  wine,  and  spirits,  and  stick  to  my  pills  and  brown 
bread.     Delay  is  death  !' 

"Now  he  chanced,"  continued  the  stout  gentleman,  "to  strike  the 
only  vulnerable  point  in  my  constitution.  I  had  often  thought,  with 
some  degree  of  trembling,  that  I  might  be  a  likely  subject  for  apo- 
plexy,  and  after  some  more  conversation,  and  a  great  deal  of  reflec- 
tion, I  determined  to  follow  his  advice. 

"  Heaven  knows  that  Dr.  Gagem  had  not  underrated  the  powers  of 
his  physic  and  diet.  In  three  weeks  I  had  no  more  stomach  than  a 
deal-board.  Weak  at  the  knees,  pale  as  a  peeled  turnip,  and  so  de- 
bilitated that  T  could  not  sit  upright  in  my  chair,  I  began  to  think  it 
high  time  to  change  the  system,  and  told  the  doctor  so. 

"  '  No,  no,  no,'  returned  he.  '  The  desirable  effects  are  just  per- 
ceptible. Stick  to  the  plan  I  laid  down  for  you,  and  in  a  few  days 
you'll  never  be  liable  to  a  fit  of  apoplexy  as  long  as  you  live.' 

"  '  Then  I  must  keep  to  my  bed,'  said  I,  '  for  I  can  scarcely  crawl 
either  out  of  it  or  into  it  now.' 

'•  '  Do  so,'  added  the  doctor.     '  The  more  repose  the  better.' 

"  Four  long,  weary  days  I  remained  in  bed,  so  attenuated  that  I 
could  hardly  turn  myself  from  side  to  side.  Every  figure  and  flower 
upon  the  curtains  I  counted  over  and  over  again  in  my  lonely  hours, 
and  speculated,  as  they  drew  themselves  lazily  along,  upon  the  joys 
that  awaited  me  upon  receiving  permission  to  live  again. 

"  I  had  been  dreaming  of  rich,  thick  turtle  soup,  haunches  of  veni- 
son, fatted  capons,  and  things  of  such  kind,  when  I  was  suddenly 
awoke  Dy  a  familiar  voice,  crying,  '  Sleep  no  more.     Wake  and  eat.' 


64  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

"  I  opened  my  eyes  to  the  sound,  and  there  by  my  bedside  stood 
an  apparition,  holding  a  large  tray,  loaded  with  a  rump-steak,  smoth- 
ered with  onions,  a  couple  of  French  rolls,  newly  baked,  and  a  bottle 
of  ruby-bright  port  wine. 

"  '  Am  I  asleep — do  I  dream  ?'  said  I. 

"  '  No,'  replied  the  voice,  which  I  now  recognised  as  belonging  to 
iny  kind-hearted,  loquacious  landlady.  '  No,  Mr.  Brown,'  added  she, 
'  you've  been  asleep  long  enough,  so  have  I,  and  nearly  every  one  of 
my  boarders  beside.' 

'"  What  do  you  mean?'  asked  I,  sticking  a  fork  into  the  savory 
dish,  and  commencing  a  demolition  of  the  dainties. 

"  '  First  of  all,  finish  every  morsel  that  I've  brought  you,'  replied 
she,  '  and  then  I'll  astonish  you  with  a  bit  of  news.' 

"  '  "What  will  the  doctor  say,  ma'am  V  I  inquired. 

"  '  Doctor  /'  exclaimed  the  landlady.  '  A  pretty  kind  of  doctor,  in- 
deed !     His  object,'  continued  she, '  was  to  kill  everybody  in  the  house.' 

"  '  Kill  everybody  in  the  house  !'  repeated  I,  stopping  in  the  act  of 
draining  a  glass  of  port. 

" '  Ah,  sir  !'  sighed  she,  '  I  little  thought  what  a  viper  I'd  got  under 
my  roof.' 

" '  Explain  yourself,  ma'am,'  returned  I. 

"  '  You'll  eat  no  more  when  I  have,'  added  she. 

"  '  I  can't  as  it  is,'  said  I.  'My  powers  of  gastronomy  are  sadly 
impaired.' 

"  '  Tis  well  they  are  not  beyond  tinkering,'  replied  the  landlady. 
'  It  was  intended  to  render  'em  so.  For  the  sham  doctor  was  nothing 
more  nor  less  than ' 

"'What?'  said  I. 

"  '  A  sleeping  partner  in  an  undertaker's  .'" 

"  '  Good  God  !'  exclaimed  I.     '  Drumming  for  business  ?' 

"  The  landlady  nodded. 

"  It  was  true  enough,  driver,"  observed  the  stout  gentleman  ;  "such 
was  the  object  of  the  self-dubbed  Doctor  Gagem." 


V<'  i   <  ,     <',^-/?// //.^ 


SONNE  T 
TO    MISS    K.'8    LAP-DOG. 

Blessed  is  thy  lot,  supremely  blessed. 

Who  sees  must  envy  thee ; 
Thus  by  that  gentle  hand  caressed, 
And  fondled  in  the  rosy  breast 
Of  that  fair  queen  of  chastity. 

Diverted  by  thy  artless  play, 

Companion  of  her  home, 
With  thee  she  sports  the  live-long  day, 
And  makes  thee  partner  of  her  way 

When  fancy  leads  her  steps  to  roam. 

Her  daily  meal  she  bids  thee  share, 

And,  with  unfeigned  delight, 
Selecting,  with  attentive  care, 
The  choicest  morsels  for  thy  fare. 
Provokes  thy  little  appetite. 

6weet  fav'rite,  while  tis  thine  to  share 

What  all  with  envy  see  : 
For  this  her  kindness,  fHa  her  care, 
Let  gratitude  reward  the  fair 

With  pleasing,  fond  fidelity. 

9 


I  S  A; 

A    TALE    OF   EHOSA88AN. 

scene  is  laid  during  the  attacks  made  by  the  Arabs  on  the  Persian  em- 

At  the  celetrated  "battle  of  Kudseah,  nearly  all  the  Persian  army,  100,000 

strong,  fell     The  Arahs  lost  3,000  men.     The  battle  of  Nahavund  decided  the 

;n  out  cf  an  army  of  150,000  men,  30,000  fell,  pierced  by  the 

lacces  of  the  Arahs,  and  80,000,  in  retreating,  were  drowned. 

The  sound  of  revelry  was  loud  in  Shahryar's  brilliant  palace. 
Azor,  the  flower  of  Persian  chivalry,  had  returned ;  and  all  the  beau- 
tiful and  the  brave  were  assembled  there  to  greet  the  youthful  war- 
rior. All  bearts  beat  high  —  music  breathed  around  its  witching 
power,  and  combined  with  the  mazy  dance  to  steep  the  senses  in 
delight.  There,  every  beauteous  race  beneath  the  sun  were  met — 
there  shone  the  full  and  fawn-like  eyes  of  Persia's  daughters,  the 
half-closed  glances  of  the  Kathayan,  the  bloom  of  Georgian  cheeks, 
the  golden  ringlets  of  the  Western  isles.  On  a  throne  of  pure  white 
marble,  carpeted  with  shawls  and  cloth  of  gold,  Shahryar  sat,  arrayed 
in  royal  attire.  His  only  child,  the  lovely  Isa,  to  whose  heart  the 
pageant  had  been  like  death,  had  quitted  the  joyous  festival  to  seek 
her  lonely  bower,  to  brood  there  in  melancholy  stillness  o'er  her  grief. 
The  moon  was  forcing  its  tender  light  through  gilded  lattices,  wreathed 
with  woodbine,  honeysuckle,  and  the  timid  jasmine-bud ;  and  Isa's 
heart  was  impressed  with  the  solemn  and  quiet  beauty  of  the  scene, 
heightened  by  its  striking  contrast  with  that  she  had  quitted ;  and  the 
sounds  of  merriment,  issuing  at  intervals  from  the  haram,  obtruded 
upon  her  ear  as  if  in  mockery  of  her  serious  feelings.  Gradually 
yielding  to  the  calm  and  tranquillizing  influence  of  the  evening,  she 
took  her  lute  and  tremblingly  struck  the  phords.  The  strain  at  first 
was  wild  and  irregular,  but  soon  ran,  as  if  unconsciously,  into  a  mel- 
ody, the  favorite  of  her  beloved  Azor  ;  that  melody  was  accompa- 
nied with  a  voice  which  mated  well  with  the  tones  of  that  soft  in- 


iSA.  67 

otiumeiu.  The  last  notes  were  still  lingering,  as  if  unwilling  to  1 
their  lovely  creator,  when  a  light  and  well-known  footstep  made  her 
conscious  of  her  lover's  approach.  He  stood  before  her,  and,  in  hur- 
ried accents,  said,  "  isa,  my  betrothed,  this  night  we  part — before  to- 
morrow's sun  has  kissed  the  brow  of  Turok  we  meet  the  Arab  on  the 
plains  of  Kudseah.  Victory  will  crown  our  arms,  for  righu . 
will  support  the  just;  then,  with  the  speed  of  the  eagle,  will  I  return 
and  claim  my  beauteous  bride.  Bethink  thee  of  thy  vow  —  may  e  i  ery 
saint  watch  over  thee  !" 

Isa  replied,  in  trembling  accents,  "  Farewell  ;"  and  detaching  from 
her  rosary  a  golden  amulet,  fretted  with  Arabic  characters,  she  threw 
it  round  his  neck  ;  "  Be  this  a  charm  of  safety  m  the  hour  of  danger  — 
may  this  avert  every  threatened  evil."  She  paused,  for  at  that  ms 
there  burst  upon  them  from  beyond  the  grove  that  crowned  their  sol- 
itude, the  tramp  of  horses,  the  shrill  call,  the  clash  of  the  cymbal, 
the  ringing  of  arms.  It  was  Azor's  signal  for  departure  ;  he  started 
at  the  sounds  ;  his  hands  pressed  upon  his  beating  brow  told  how  re- 
membrance throbbed  therein  ;  then,  throwing  himself  upon  his  knees, 
and  as  suddenly  starting  up,  he  cried,  "  Oh !  Isa,  in  vain  I  strive  to 
oiler  up  a  prayer  —  my  knee  may  bend,  my  lips  may  move,  but  without 
thee  I  can  not  pray." 

Isa's  head  bent  upon  his  trembling  arm,  startled  by  the  breathing 
of  lips  that  echoed  back  her  anguish;  she  suddenly  raised  herself; 
her  mild  eyes  looked  up  to  Heaven  —  eyes  whose  light  seemed  rather 
given  to  be  adored  than  to  adore  ;  and,  with  a  countenance  calm  but 
sorrowful,  a  sadness  that  could  not  weep,  breathed  an  inarticulate 
prayer.  The  impatient  pawing  of  the  ground,  the  champing  of  a  bit, 
told  Azor  his  faithful  steed  awaited  him.  In  happier  hours  Isa  had 
ridden  him,  when,  as  if  conscious  of  his  precious  burden,  he  was  all 
gentleness  ;  now  his  wild  nostrils  snorting,  his  mane  erected,  he 
struggled  fiercely  under  his  warlike  equipments.  Isa  rushed  to  him, 
and,  clinging  to  his  neck  —  "  Rakush,  dear  Rakush.  carry  your  muster 
to  victory."  Azor's  foot  was  now  in  the  stirrup  —  his  burning  lips 
impressed  a  kiss  upon  her  extended  hand  ;  her  e>  es  took  their  ago- 
nizing farewell  — she  fell  senseless  into  the  arms  of  her  faithful  Ma- 
ridah. 

Isa  had  from  her  childhood  been  affianced  to  Azor  ;  the  deadly  wars 


68  AMERICAN    BOOK    OF    BEAU'l  V 

with  the  Arabs  had  taken  him  from  her  ;  but  absence  had  inc  i 
her  love.  Hers  was  a  pure,  deep,  ardent,  and  imperishable  feeling. 
Azor  was  the  sole  joy,  the  pride,  the  ambition  of  her  fond  hear*  ;  and 
never  did  saintly  martyr  dedieate  himself  with  more  intense  devotion 
to  his  faith  than  did  Azor  consecrate  his  heart  to  her.  Love  had  been 
to  his  impassioned  soul  not  merely  a  part  of  his  existence,  but  the 
whole,  the  very  life-breath  of  his  heart ;  and  a  purer  shrine  at  which 
to  offer  up  the  fragrant  incense  of  a  first  affection  never  existed. 
Isa's  was  not  alone  that  loveliness  by  which  the  wilder  passions  are 
captivated  ;  it  possessed  the  mind  which  sparkled  through  her  whole 
frame,  and  lighted  every  charm.  Her  playful  blushes  seemed  but  the 
luminous  escapes  of  thought ;  her  clear  forehead  was  shaded  by  a 
rich  profusion  of  glossy  hair ;  her  eyes  were  full,  and  when  stirred 
by  anger  or  surprise,  were  fire  itself,  but  at  a  word  of  tenderness  be- 
>ubdued  and  soft.  Her  mouth  was  harmony  and  love  ;  and  hers 
was  a  form  that  could  have  spared  from  its  rich  world  of  beauty, 
charms  enough  to  have  made        others  fair. 

In  her  were  combined  all  that  the  spirit  seeks  for  in  woman,  and 
all  that  the  senses  pine  for  on  earth.  Maridah,  for  whom  she  felt  a 
sister's  affection,  had  early  been  bereft  of  one  who  had  been  her  sole 
terrestrial  hope,  and,  in  her  widowed  state,  the  only  feeling  that  seem- 
ed happiness  to  her,  or  rather  the  sole  relief  from  aching  misery,  was 
to  see  Isa  happy.  Her  smile  brought  to  this  faithful  friend  warmth 
and  radiance  like  moonlight  on  a  troubled  sea.  Many  had  sought 
Maridah's  hand,  but  in  vain ;  the  hymeneal  chaplet  that  first  graced 
her  virgin  brow  was  withered,  and  she  knew  no  second  vow  could 
ever  bid  it  bloom  again.  Daily  did  she  pray  and  weep  at  the  sepul- 
chre of  the  dead,  strewing  the  grave  with  fragrant  blossoms,  from 
the  divine  armita  to  the  humble  rosemary  and  basil-tuft,  and  looking 
forward  with  meek  confidence  to  the  time  when  their  spirits,  bursting 
from  their  charnel-vault,  would  be  reunited,  and  wing  their  way  to 
eternity. 

Time  lingered  on  —  Isa,  the  once  light-hearted  maid,  with  sinking 
heart  and  tearful  eyes,  now  bitterly,  day  by  day,  mourned  her  lover's 
absence.  Her  faltering  speech,  her  estranged  look,  her  very  beauty 
changed,  showed  too  well  how  deep  his  memory  was  graven  on  her 
heart.     The  cypress-leaf  was  withering — unsoothed  by  rest  or  sleep, 


isa.  69 

death  seemed  approaching.  Sometimes  she  would  start  from  her 
feverish  slumber,  and  in  the  fond  but  deceitful  thought  that  he  had  re 
turned,  instinctively  clasp  to  her  panting  bosom  its  disordered  dra- 
pery. Sometimes,  too — for  vague  rumors  of  a  buttle  had  reached 
her — she  beheld  him,  in  her  troubled  dreams,  on  the  field  of  blood, 
his  cimcter  flashing,  his  gallant  steed  springing  to  his  touch,  outnum- 
bered, not  outbraved,  opposing  despair  to  daring,  his  sabre  shivering 
to  the  hilt.  The  groans  of  the  dying,  the  shout  of  Allah  Akbar,  the 
cry  of  ravening  vultures,  sounded  on  her  ears ;  she  saw  her  lover 
blackening  within  her  arms,  parched  and  writhing  in  agony — his  ashy 
lips  approached  hers.  Maddening,  and  in  torture,  she  awoke.  Her 
dream  had  been  too  true  —  a  wounded  straggler  from  the  field  brought 
her  the  fatal  news,  that  her  soul's  first  and  last  idol  had  been  mis- 
sing after  the  murderous  strife. 

x\zor  had  been  foremost  in  the  battle  ;  with  vigor  more  than  human 
he  animated  all.  His  crimson  hand  had  given  bloody  welcome  to 
the  foe;  foiling  the  enemy's  ranks,  now  reuniting  his  own;  wounded, 
at  last,  he  bent  senseless  over  his  saddlebow  —  a  film  swept  across 
his  eyes — with  feeble  and  convulsive  effort  he  raised  the  amulet  to 
his  parching  lips,  then,  gasping,  fell  senseless  to  the  ground.  Across 
his  dizzy  brain  came  the  vision  of  her,  his  heart's  pure  planet,  shining 
above  the  waste  of  memory  —  stupor  crept  over  his  frame.  The 
voices  of  the  exulting  foe  soon  woke  him  from  his  transient  forget- 
fulness  —  he  tried  to  spring  all  bleeding  from  the  earth  —  his  creese 
was  raised  to  stab  his  war-horse,  who  now,  masterless,  was  strug- 
gling to  burst  his  bloody  girth.  A  band  of  Arabs  seized  the  chief, 
and  he,  his  country's  pride,  was  doomed  to  experience  an  exile's  sor- 
row. Azor's  sufferings  were  acute  in  mental  as  in  bodily  anguish  ; 
he  lingered  on  a  wretched  existence  ;  one  dear  thought  still  haunted 
him,  but  the  expiring  throb  of  hope  was  nearly  over. 

On  the  eighth  morning,  Maridah  entered  Isa's  apartment,  and,  with 
a  countenance  brightened  with  unusual  joy,  awoke  her  suffering  friend. 
"  Rise,  sister !  rise  ;  I've  news  will  make  this  day  most  blessed  to 
thee  and  me — see  these  lines  from  Azor,  brought  by  a  ransomed 
prisoner." 

A  faint  scream  escaped  Isa's  pallid  lips  ;  her  heart  throbbed  high. 
Seizing  the  scroll,  she  pressed  it  to  her  lips ;  then,  falling  upon  her 


70  AMERICAN    BOOE   OF    BEAl'TV. 

b  from  her  heart's  inmost  core  breathed  a  fervent  prayer  ;  then, 

with  a  glow  of  rapture,  she  threw  herself  into  Maridah's  arms,  wildly 
exclaiming,  "Allah  be  praised!  he  lives!  a  captive — yet  he  lives." 

Shahrvar,  whose  territory  was  threatened  by  the  powerful  Abdal- 
lah,  sought  the  alliance  of  the  Calif  Istkahar,  unhappily  one  of  the 
many  slaves  of  Isa's  charms.  He  had  offered  ransom  for  the  captive, 
Azor ;  the  terms  struck  heavy  upon  a  father's  ears  —  they  were  the 
hand  of  his  affianced  child.  In  vain  did  his  better  nature,  his  pater- 
nal feeling,  struggle  with  his  people's  welfare ;  suffice  it  to  say  he 
consented  to  sacrifice  his  child.  Isa  heard  his  determination  with 
calm  resignation  —  even  without  a  murmur.  She  saw  but  one  way 
to  extricate  herself,  and  resolved  to  adopt  it. 

Istkahar  was  hourly  expected  at  Merou ;  the  nuptials  were  to  be 
celebrated  in  the  mOst  sumptuous  manner.  The  morning  arrived  ; 
the  rising  sun  seemed  to  visit  with  unusual  splendor  the  polished 
domes,  and  fretted  minarets,  and  stately  towers.  Like  an  eastern 
queen,  decorated  to  receive  her  lord  returning  from  triumphant  war- 
fare, so  was  the  royal  city  arrayed  in  all  her  gala  decorations  ;  and 
the  young  morning  breeze  sported  joyously  with  ten  thousand  thou- 
sand banners,  making  them  to  flaunt  and  flicker  with  their  gaudy  folds, 
and  to  seem  like  living  inhabitants  of  the  deep  azure  of  that  Persian 
sky.  The  bridal  cavalcade  was  one  unbroken  line  of  splendor  to  the 
beholder's  eye  — to  Isa  it  was  a  melancholy  funeral  pageant.  Through 
the  apartments,  rich  with  arabesque  painting  and  gilding,  flowers  and 
censers  breathing  sweets,  Isa  roamed  almost  bewildered.  To  her  it 
was  a  maze  of  light  and  loneliness  —  the  pomp  of  the  scene  was  in 
opposition  to  her  feelings. 

Paler  than  the  marble  pillar  against  which  she  leaned,  Isa  awaited 
the  sacrifice  ;  her  anxious  friend  Maridah  was  by  her  side,  and  pri- 
vately conveyed  to  her  a  small  casket,  which  Isa  concealed  within 
her  vest.  The  spacious  hall  was  now  crowded  ;  the  contract  was 
read;  Isa's  trembling  fingers  seized  the  pen,  and  signed  the  fatal 
deed.  The  tidings  spread  ;  messengers  were  despatched  to  the  Arab 
camp.  The  ceremony  was  proceeding.  Isa  was  now  called  upon 
to  pledge  her  vow  at  the  altar ;  she  approached  it  with  firm  step,  then 
taking  the  mysterious  casket,  was  about  to  press  it  to  her  lips,  when 
a  thrilling  cry  of  Azor  reached  her  ear.     Every  eye  turned  toward 


ISA.  71 

the  corridor  —  there  Azor  stood,  his  desperate  hand  raised  toward 
heaven,  and,  almost  inflamed  to  madness,  he  shouted,  "  Isa !  thy  vow! 
by  the  remembrance  of  our  once  pure  love  !  —  thy  vow  ! — heaven  !  — 
vengeance !" 

"  Oh,  curse  me  not,  dear  Azor  !"  Isa  wildly  replied ;  "  it  was  grief, 
it  was  madness  caused  it  all.  Doubt  not,  my  love  ;  when  every  hope 
was  over,  when  frightful  voices  told  me  thou  wert  lingering  in  captiv- 
ity, I  thought  but  of  thy  freedom — I  would  have  purchased  thy  ran- 
som with  my  life — my  brain  gave  way;  and  think  how  maddened  I 
must  have  been,  when,  to  save  thee,  I  courted  death !  Be  not  de- 
ceived—  death  is  the  bridegroom  that  awaits  me !" 

Azor  rushed  forward,  dashing  the  casket  from  her  hand,  sprang  into 
her  arms,  and  clasped  her  with  speechless  ecstasy. 

Istkahar,  who  had  witnessed  this  scene  with  intense  interest,  ap- 
proached Isa,  and,  uniting  her  hand  with  Azor's,  tore  the  contract. 
At  this  generous  action  the  shouts  of  Allah  echoed  through  the  halls, 
the  warrior's  swords  were  pointed  to  heaven,  while  the  harem's  love- 
liness, waving  their  embroidered  scarfs,  made  the  air  resound  with 
the  bridal  song  : — 

"  Mubarak  bad  !    Mubarak  bad ! 
Auspicious  may  your  fortunes  be  ; 
And  ever  may  your  hearts,  stall  glad, 
Respond  to  nuptial  revelry. 
Mubarak  bad!   Mubarak  bad  I" 

The  ceremony  proceeded  ;  and  never  did  earth  behold  a  sight  more 
beautiful,  when,  as  the  rays  of  heaven  (descending  on  the  altar)  shed 
their  holy  beams  upon  each  brow,  they  knelt  before  that  shrine,  at 
the  foot  of  which  she  would  have  immolated  herself — their  hands 
clasped  in  one,  thus  fondly  pledged  to  live  and  die  together. 


A  MOTHER'S  LOVE. 

BY  J,  E.  P.     ON  SEEING  THE  PORTRAITS  07  MRS.  OOSTER  AND  HER  DATTGHTBR 

A  Mother's  love  !     Ah,  what  can  be 

Of  earth's  affections  half  so  holy, 
From  sin  and  selfishness  so  free, 

80  little  tinged  with  human  folly? 

Look  on  that  face,  so  calm,  so  mild  I 
What  love  beams  forth  in  every  feature  I 

Ah,  thou  ehouldst  treasure,  lovely  child, 
The  lessons  of  thy  gentle  teacher ! 

From  her  thou  mayest  leam  to  shun 
The  paths  that  lead  to  sin  and  sorrow; 

And  through  the  course  thou  hast  to  run, 
Her  bright  example  may'et  thou  borrow. 

May  peace  upon  ye  both  attend. 

Fair  gentle  child  and  lovely  mother  ; 
When  in  this  world  your  course  shall  end, 

May  ye  be  blessed  in  another ! 


THE    RESURRECTIONISTS 

A    TA.T.'R     BY  AN  ASSISTANT  UNDERTAKER. 

Some  people  are  by  nature  calculated  for  a  particular  calling,  and  I 
think  I  may  safely  assert  that  I  was  for  the  funeral  trade.  I  well  re- 
member, when  quite  a  lad,  I  used  to  trudge  it  long  distances  to  see  a 
fine  burial.  The  tolling  of  a  bell  was  music  to  me,  and  the  shovel- 
ling of  the  gravel  into  the  grave,  good  diversion.  I  delighted  to  be 
handling  the  old  toothless  sculls  thrown  up  by  the  sexton's  spade,  and 
my  playground  was  always  in  the  churchyard  alone. 

In  due  time  I  was  apprenticed  to  an  undertaker  in  Broadway,  and 
so  ardently  did  I  engage  in  my  master's  business,  that  I  soon  gained 
not  only  his  entire  confidence,  but  I  may  say  that  I  was  the  favorite 
of  the  establishment.  In  fact  I  was  soon  promoted  to  act  second  to 
him  at  funerals,  and  to  take  the  sole  direction  myself,  in  all  cases 
during  his  absence. 

One  day  my  master  came  to  me  and  said,  "  We've  got  a  country 
job,  Joey,  and  I  must  get  you  to  drive  the  hearse — the  widow  is  un- 
common particular." 

"  Is  she,  sir  ?"  said  I,  almost  bursting  with  delight  at  the  prospect 
of  going  out  of  town  on  a  professional  tour. 

"  Yes,"  replied  my  master  ;  "  her  husband  was  a  very  fat  gentle- 
man, and  she's  much  afraid  to  have  him  jolted.  The  funeral  will 
go  from  Bleecker  street  the  day  after  to-morrow,  to  ******  in 
Connecticut  j  but  you  will  have  to  start  to-morrow  morning  early, 
and  not  let  the  horse  go  off  a  walk.  The  funeral  party  will  overtake 
you." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  replied  I. 

"  Be  careful  and  don't  jolt  him,  Joey,"  added  he  ;  "  if  you  do,  it 
might  prove  unpleasant,  for  he  is  a  very  tender  subject " 

10 


74  AMERICAN    BOOK    OF    BEAUTY. 

"  I  understand,  sir,  and  you  may  rely  that  I  will  not,"  said  I,  proudly. 

It  was  just  nine  o'clock  on  a  cold  February  morning  that  I  started 
from  Bleccker  street  with  my  solitary  but  silent  passenger.  I  w  as 
occupied  during  the  whole  tedious  day  with  my  thoughts,  and  with 
marking  the  progress  of  my  journey  by  different  tavern-clocks,  where 
I  stopped  to  warm  my  fingers  and  administer  comfort  to  the  inward 
man.  I  had  performed  nearly  two  thirds  of  my  journey  when  night 
overtook  me,  and  the  cold  became  more  intense.  Sometimes  the  moon 
peeped  for  a  moment  between  dark  and  heavy  clouds  flying  before  a 
whistling  wind,  making  the  night  look  pitchy  black  and  comfortless  ; 
but  lighting  a  cigar,  and  between  the  puffs  humming  a  tune,  I  felt  as 
cheerful  as  a  cricket  in  a  hay-field.  While  thus  proceeding  with 
careful  pace,  I  came  in  sight  of  a  remarkably  neat  looking  white 
tavern.  The  appearance  of  comfort  and  convenience,  either  for  man 
or  beast,  tempted  me  to  stop  and  take  a  rest.  After  seeing  my  horse 
and  vehicle  comfortably  provided  for  in  the  shed,  I  took  my  way  to 
the  bar-room  to  order  supper  and  get  something  to  drink. 

"  What,  Joey !"  hallooed  a  voice  as  I  entered  the  room ;  "  is  that 
vou,  my  fine  feller  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  I,  "  it  is  ;  how  are  you,  Harry  Drinkal  ?" 

"  Pretty  middlin,  I  thank  you,"  rejoined  he,  "  but  a  little  out  of 
luck." 

It  was  one  of  our  discharged  apprentices,  who  had  been  in  the 
business  a  long  time  ;  but  nothing  could  keep  him  sober  even  at  his 
jobs,  and  so  at  last  he  was  turned  off  by  the  boss,  and  had,  as  I  was 
told  some  time  before,  turned  resurrectionist.  Harry  was  a  short  and 
thick-set  wiry-looking  fellow,  with  a  broad  face,  and  a  pair  of  small 
eyes  sunk  right  under  his  shaggy  brows.  His  mouth  was  the  largest 
I  ever  saw,  and,  taking  him  all  in  all,  he  was  about  the  ugliest  chap 
to  be  seen  in  a  month's  march.  By  his  side  sat  a  fox-haired  Irish- 
man, tall,  bony,  and  with  the  sinews  of  an  ox  shown  in  his  bared  and 
brawny  arms  ;  between  his  legs  a  white  bulldog  squatted  ;  and,  taking 
the  three  as  a  party,  I  never  met  with  a  rougher  lot. 

"  This  friend  of  mine,"  said  Harry,  "  Mr.  O'Brien,  is  a  man  al- 
ways ready  to  fight  and  drink  from  sunrise  to  sunset." 

"  Troth,  you  may  safely  say  so,  whinever  you  plase,"  observed  Mr. 
O'Brien. 


THE    RESURRECTIONISTS.  75 

"  I  prefer  drinking  to  fighting,"  I  replied,  "  and,  if  you'll  drink  my 
health,  I'll  stand  treat 

After  two  or  three  goes  of  brandy  each,  they  became  very  talka- 
tive, and  commenced  letting  me  into  their  secrets. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what  we're  about  to-night  V  whispered 
Harry. 

"  I  can  guess  the  trick  you're  up  to,"  said  I. 

"  Sacking  a  subject,"  replied  he  ;  "  and  the  best  stroke  of  trade 
that  we've  had  since  we  took  to  the  spade  and  pickaxe." 

"  And  how's  that  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  A  smart  young  doctor,  who  is  a  walking  saw-bone  and  amputation 
shop  by  himself,  wants  a  subject  for  private  use,"  replied  Harry,  "  and, 
just  for  once  in  his  life,  wishes  to  see  the  performance  of  getting  one 
out.  So  he  has  agreed  to  give  a  matter  of  ten  dollars  if  we  let  him 
go  along." 

"  It's  a  queer  notion,"  observed  I. 

"  Curiosity,  sir,  curiosity  as  pure  as  the  real  Irish  whiskey,"  said 
Mr.  O'Brien.  "  There's  more  money  made  out  of  curiosity  than  any 
other  feeling  in  the  world.  To  see  a  learned  pig,  or  a  man  hung — 
it's  curiosity  that  brings  the  people." 

"  He's  a  real  out-and-out  feel-osopher,"  remarked  Harry.  "  The 
firm  of  Drinkal  and  O'Brien's  no  soft-soap  concern,"  continued  he, 
laughing,  and  giving  his  partner  a  heavy  bang  between  his  shoulders. 

"Are  you  sure  of  success  to-night  ?"  inquired  I. 

"  Certain,"  replied  Harry.  "  We  had  information  of  a  young  fe- 
male's being  buried  to-day  not  three  miles  from  here,  and  the  yard's 
nicely  lonesome." 

"  I  thought,  you  said  our  customer  was  to  join  us  here  at  ten  o'clock," 
remarked  Mr.  O'Brien,  as  the  clock  in  the  bar-room  struck  that  hour. 

"  Well,  so  I  did,"  replied  Harry.  "  I  have  no  doubt  the  gentleman 
will  be  here  presently." 

"  I'll  go  and  get  the  horse  put.  in,  then,"  rejoined  his  partner  ;  and 
with  that  he  left  the  room. 

Soon  after  his  going  away  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  in  came  a 
tall  young  man  wrapped  in  a  great  wide  cloak.  He  seemed  some- 
where about  twenty  years  old,  and  was  of  a  very  pale  countenance, 
with  sharp,  thin  features. 


76  AMERICAN    BOOK    OK    BEAUTY. 

li  It's  pretty  near  our  time,  sir,"  observed  Harry,  rising  as  the 
stranger  entered  the  room. 

"  Yes,"  replied  he  ;  "  but  I'm  hardly  disposed  to  accompany  you, 
the  night's  so  wretched  and  cold." 

"  Never  have  a  faint  heart,  sir,"  said  Harry,  encouragingly.  "  Take 
a  glass  of  hot  brandy-and-water  ;  that's  a  lotion  against  cold." 

"  Are  you  now  ready  to  start  ?"  asked  the  gentleman. 

"  We  shall  be  in  a  few  minutes,"  replied  Harry.  "  O'Brien's  gone 
to  bring  the  wagon  round." 

Mr.  O'Brien,  however,  remained  absent  much  longer  than  was  ex- 
pected, and  when  he  returned  he  seemed  to  be  quite  warm.  The  per- 
spiration stood  on  his  face,  and  he  was  panting  for  breath. 

"  What  the  devil  have  you  been  about  ?"  asked  Harry. 

"  I  forgot  to  bring  the  spades,"  replied  he,  "  and  I've  had  to  run 
nearly  two  miles  to  borrow  a  couple  of  them." 

"  Forgot  to  bring  the  spades  !"  exclaimed  Harry.     "  Why  I  — " 

"  No  you  didn't,"  interrupted  Mr.  O'Brien. 

"  But  I  say  — " 

"  You  didn't,"  again  interrupted  the  Irishman,  and  I  fancied  he  gave 
Harry  a  kind  of  wink. 

"  Oh,  yes,  perhaps  you're  right,  perhaps  you're  right,"  returned 
Harry,  and  then  he  went  into  an  extravagant  fit  of  laughing.  "  Only 
to  think,"  said  he,  "  that  I  should  forget  the  spades  !  What  an  over- 
sight !"  and  then  he  haw-haw'd  again. 

I  couldn't  see  anything  in  particular  to  laugh  at  myself,  and  I  won- 
dered what  tickled  him  so.     But  I  was  young  and  green  then. 

"  How  soon  do  you  start,  Joey  ?"  asked  Harry  of  me. 

"  In  about  half  an  hour,"  I  replied  ;  "  can't  you  wait  for  me ;  or 
ain't  you  going  my  way  ?" 

"  I  expect  you'll  pass  us,"  replied  Harry.  "  But  we  must  be  off, 
s  we  have  a  full  night's  work ;  no  doubt  we  shall  see  you  again, 
presently." 

With  this  the  three  left  the  house,  and,  climbing  into  a  light  wag- 
on at  the  door,  the  horse  bounded  forward  at  a  rapid  pace. 

I  was  soon  afterward  on  the  same  road  with  my  hearse.  The 
cold  increased  with  the  night.  A  thin  sleet  fell,  with  some  rain,  and 
was  blown  into  my  face  till  I  had  no  feeling  left  in  it.     Howling  and 


THE    RESURRECTIONISTS.  77 

whistling  through  the  leafless  trees  and  hedges,  the  wind  swept,  along, 
and  nothing  was  heard  above  its  roar  but  the  bark  of  a  dog  now  and 
then,  and  the  harsh  scream  of  a  screech-owl,  as  she  flapped  her  broad 
wing  in  the  wintry  blast. 

I  proceeded  at  a  slow  pace,  and  when  I  had  got  about  three  miles 
from  the  inn,  I  saw  in  the  rays  of  the  moon,  which  showed  her  face 
for  a  moment,  the  spire  of  a  country  church  peeping  above  the  top  of 
a  dark  willow  tree,  and  close  to  the  road-side.  Under  the  tree  I  saw 
a  light  move,  and  then  it  appeared  to  be  put  out.  "  That's  Harry's 
dark  lantern,"  said  I  to  myself,  and  so  it  proved  to  be. 

Upon  stopping  opposite  the  church,  I  heard  the  click  of  the  spade 
at  work,  and,  getting  off  my  box,  was  directed  toward  the  spot  by  the 
sound.     When  within  a  short  distance  of  them,   the   dog,  who  was 
squatting  on  a  sunken  grave,  gave  a  deep,  threatening  growl. 
"  Is  that  you,  Joey  ?"  inquired  Mr.  O'Brien. 
"  All  right !"  I  replied. 

"  Down,  Jowler,  then,  down,  feller,"  replied  his  master.  "  If  it  had 
been  anybody  we  didn't  want  to  see,"  continued  O'Brien,  laughing, 
:{  he'd  have  drawn  their  windpipe  out  by  this  time." 

By  the  side  of  a  partly-opened  grave,  in  which  Harry  was  working, 
stood  the  young  medical  student,  and,  as  I  came  near  him,  I  knew  he 
was  either  trembling  with  fear,  or  shivering  with  cold,  for  his  teeth 
chattered  together,  so  as  to  be  heard  some  distance  off.  "  Make 
haste,"   he  said,  impatiently;  "  I  wish  to  God  I  had  not  come  !" 

"  Don't  get  in  the  fidgets,  sir,"  replied  O'Brien  ;  "  Harry  will  soon 
get  to  her.  Take  a  drop  o'  rum  ;  it'll  comfort  the  cockles  of  your 
buzzum,  sir,"  continued  he,  offering  the  flask. 

"  No,  no,  no,  I  can't  drink,"  rejoined  he.  "Make  haste,  pray  let 
us  leave  here  directly." 

"  As  soon  as  possible,  if  you're  in  such  a  hurry,"  added  O'Brien. 
"  But  in  a  snug,  cozy  place  like  this,  I  don't  see  any  call  for  haste." 

"  I  do,  I  do,"  returned  the  gentleman,  quickly.  "  I  know  there's 
cause  for  haste." 

"  Pooh,  pooh !  you're  a  little  bit  scared,  sir,  that's  all,"  added  the 
Irishman.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  how  asy  some  folks  are  frightened  !  Ha,  ha. 
ha !  I  can't  help  laughing ;"  and  his  loud  peal  echoed  through  the 
place,  until  every  gravestone  seemed  to  throw  back  the  sound. 


78  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

u  I  say,  you  Paddy,"  called  a  voice  from  below. 

"  Well,  and  what  have  you  to  say  ?"  inquired  O'Brien,  leaning  over 
the  edge  of  the  grave. 

'•  We're  in  the  wrong  box,"  replied  Harry.  "  This  is  a  real  stale 
one,  and  no  mistake." 

The  Irishman,  hearing  this,  stamped  his  feet  with  rage,  and  cursed 
like  a  fiend. 

"  Hush !"  exclaimed  the  young  gentleman,  springing  to  his  side  ; 
"  do  hold  your  tongue." 

"  Ain't  it  enough  to  make  a  dumb  infant  swear  ?"  returned  O'Brien. 
"  Are  ye  sure  it's  too  ripe,  Harry  ?"  inquired  he. 

"  I'm  not  certain,"  replied  his  partner,  "  but  the  box  looks  so." 

After  a  short  pause  O'Brien  lowered  some  grappling  irons  attached 
to  a  rope  into  the  grave,  and  told  Harry  to  fix  them  in  the  shroud 
"  for,"  said  he,  "  you'll  be  a  week  in  making  up  your  mind  about  her." 

"  I'm  very  doubtful,  certainly,"  replied  Harry  ;  "  but  there  you  are, 
all  right ;  pull  away." 

Hand  over  fist  the  Irishman  tugged  the  corpse  to  the  verge  of  the 
grave,  and,  taking  it  in  his  arms,  threw  it  across  his  bent  knee  upon 
the  ground. 

"  She  won't  do,"  said  he,  putting  his  hand  into  a  side  pocket,  and 
taking  out  a  hammer.  "  But  she's  got  some  good  grinders  for  the 
dentist ;"  and,  holding  the  lantern  close  to  the  body's  face,  he  struck 
the  mouth  sharply,  crushing  in  the  jaw. 

A  shriek,  wild  and  piercing,  burst  close  to  my  ear  as  the  hammer 
(ell.  "  My  God  !  My  God !"  exclaimed  a  voice,  and,  jumping  a  yard 
at  a  single  bound,  the  young  gentleman  fastened  a  grip  like  a  tiger 
upon  the  throat  of  the  Irishman.  In  a  moment  he  was  hurled  to  the 
ground,  like  a  bull-dog  shaking  a  rat  from  him. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?"  said  O'Brien. 

"  The  matter  !"  screamed  the  medical  student.  "  The  matter  !" 
and  then  he  rolled  upon  the  earthj  as  though  in  liquid  fire.  "  Ha,  ha, 
ha !"  but  the  laugh  was  more  horrid  than  his  shrieks. 

"  By  Saint  Patrick  !"  said  O'Brien,  "  he's  gone  clean  mad." 

"  Would  to  Heaven  that  I  was  !"  hallooed  the  gentleman.  "  Would 
to  Heaven  that  I  was  !  for  then " 


THE    RESURRECTIONISTS.  79 

He  could  say  no  more,  but  fell  into  a  fit  by  the  side  of  the  corpse, 
apparently  with  as  little  of  life  left  in  him. 

Thinking  his  noise  might  disturb  the  neighborhood,  I  didn  t  wait 
an  instant  longer,  but,  running  as  fast  as  I  could  out  of  the  yard,  mount- 
ed my  hearse,  and  started  again  with  my  load.  I  learned  a  few  clays 
afterward  that  they  had  mistaken  the  grave,  and  that  the  body  dug  up 
was  that  of  the  young  gentleman's  own  mother  ! 

The  next  morning,  after  my  arrival  at  the  place  where  the  funeral 
was  to  go  from,  and  just  as  we  were  ready  to  start  for  the  grave,  in 
our  best  plumes   and  feathers,  a  letter  was  put  in  my  hands,  marked 
"  in  haste."     Upon  breaking  it  open,  you  may  think  of  my  astonish 
ment  when  I  read  the  — —  but  here  is  the  letter : 

"  Dear  Joseph  :  I'm  almost  busting  with  larfin  to  think  how  you 
will  be  laft  at  when  our  go  of  last  night  comes  to  be  known.  But  as 
you  have  always  been  a  first-rate  fellow,  and  treated  me  like  a  gen- 
tleman, I  won't  let  it  get  you  into  trouble  if  so  be  you're  not  a  fool, 
and  I  reckon  you  ain't.  Now,  Joey,  take  a  friend's  advice.  Be  par- 
tickler  in  telling  the  fellows  to  draw  your  load  with  an  old  nurse's  care 
from  the  hearse,  for  if  they  shake  him,  mark  my  words,  Joey,  he'll 
rattle  like  marbles  in  a  saucepan.  And  if  so  be  any  of  the  mourners 
hear  the  row,  they  may  take  it  into  their  obstinate  heads  to  call  for  a 
screwdriver.  In  this  case,  my  fine  feller,  you'd  get  very  wrongfully 
suspected  of  foul  play,  as  all  you'd  see  on  the  box  being  opened,  would 
be  a  few  dozen  large  stones  from  the  stable,  put  there  in  place  of 
your  fat  passenger  by  my  shrewd  partner,  Mr.  O'Brien.  Joey,  you 
may  think  I'm  lying,  but  I'm  not  when  I  say,  if  I'd  known  of  his  plan 
aforehand  it  shouldn't  have  happened.  However,  what's  done  can't 
be  undone,  and  all  you've  got  to  do  is,  mind  and  not  have  the  box 
shaken,  that's  all.  "  Harry  Drinkal." 

It  may  be  easily  supposed  that  I  had  a  sort  of  a  queerish  sensation 
at  this  piece  of  news.  All  manner  of  fancies  came  over  me.  The 
old  widow,  thought  I,  will  insist  on  having  just  one  last  look  before 
he's  covered  up.  Then  I  feared  we  should  have  an  upset,  a  slip,  or 
i  rope  snap.  All  possible  events  for  finding  me  out  in  the  quandary 
ivere  chewed  very  fine  in  my  brain,  and  as  I  got  upon  the  hearse  to 
/oin  in  the  procession,  no  poor  fellow  ever  mounted  a  much  more  un- 
easy seat  in  this  world  or  the  other,  I  know.     As  in  a  good  many 


80  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

other  affairs,  appearances  being  against  me,  no  one  would  credit  the 
truth  in  case  the  exchange  was  discovered ;  and  all  my  hopes  and 
prospects  of  course  depended  on  the  secret  remaining  snug  and 
secure. 

On  our  way  to  the  churchyard,  things  went  smooth  enough.  I  was 
more  gentle  than  a  lamb  with  my  horse,  especially  round  the  near 
corners,  ibr,  thought  I,  if  one  or  two  of  them  stones  get  loose,  they'll 
find  me  out  to  a  certainty. 

"  Be  careful,  Sammy,"  said  I  to  one  of  the  men,  as  he  unfastened 
the  hearse  door  ;  "  be  careful,  Sammy.  The  lady  partickerly  ordered 
that  he  wasn't  to  be  jolted." 

"  Pooh  !"  growled  Sammy,  in  a  loudish  whisper,  "  I  dare  say  you 
smacked  him  out  here  at  the  rate  of  twelve  miles  an  hour,  and  spent 
the  rest  of  the  time  at  the  taverns  along  the  road." 

"  At  no  expense  of  yours,  if  I  did,"  replied  I,  indignantly. 

'•  Well,  then,  I'll  be  careful,"  said  he  sarcastically,  and  at  the  same 
time  giving  the  coffin  such  a  pull  that  sent  all  the  blood  tingling  to 
my  toes. 

Desperation  makes 'a  man  beside  himself.  Without  thinking  of 
the  consequences,  but  only  of  the  likelihood  of  Sammy's  violence  let- 
ting the  cat  out  of  the  bag,  I  leaped  off  my  seat,  and,  throwing  the 
reins  across  my  horse,  rushed  to  what  I  may  call  the  rescue. 

"  Drop  that  as  you  would  a  hot  potato,"  cried  I,  clutching  hold  of 
the  coffin. 

"  Damn  your  impudence  !"  hallooed  Sammy,  planting  a  left-handed 
whack  just  in  the  middle  of  my  pin-cushion.  "  Put  that  in  your 
pipe,"  said  he. 

Down  I  tumbled  backward,  and  lay  sprawling  in  the  road.  Our 
master,  who  was  standing  with  the  old  widow  and  the  other  members 
of  the  fat  old  gentleman's  family,  at  some  little  distance  off,  saw  there 
was  something  going  on,  and  came  running  toward  us  like  a  lamp- 
lighter. 

"  What's  all  this  about,  eh  ?"  asked  he  ;  "  what's  all  this  about  V 

Now  Sammy  was  as  artful  a  fellow  as  ever  was  picked,  and  see- 
ing I  couldn't  speak  a  word,  said  he,  "  Sir,  I'm  sorry  to  say  Joey's 
drunk." 

"  Drunk !"  exclaimed  he,  fixing  a  look  upon  me  that  I  shall  never 


THE    RESURRECTIONISTS.  81 

forget ;  "  drunk  at  a  job  like  this  !  Oh,  Joey  !  what  an  ungrateful  boy 
you  are !" 

"  I'm  not,  sir,"  replied  I  as  well  as  I  could,  but  each  word  seemed 
to  prove, to  the  contrary.  "I'm  not  drunk,  ssir.  Sammy's  hit  me  be- 
cause I  wanted  to  see  your  orders  obeyed,  and  he  wouldn't  do  them." 

"  Shut  up  your  noise,"  returned  my  master ;  "  I'll  see  into  this  busi- 
ness by-and-by." 

After  the  performance  was  over,  there  was  a  regular  sort  of  trial, 
and  my  story  being  believed,  Sammy  Avas  cleared  out.  My  master, 
thinking  a  good  thing  might  be  made  out  of  the  morning's  rumpus, 
went  with  his  best  business-face  to  the  family,  and  made  out  that  I 
was  one  of  the  tenderest-hearted  boys  in  the  world,  who  couldn't 
tamely  sit  by  and  see  the  affectionate  feelings  of  a  devoted  lady  out- 
raged. With  a  little  more  lingo,  he  so  scraped  upon  the  catgut  oi 
the  old  widow,  that  she  sent  me  a  five-dollar  gold  piece,  and  a  message 
to  bid  me  remember  "  that  one  kind  turn  often  brings  another." 

As  near  as  I  can  recollect,  it  was  just  two  months  after  this  funeral 
of  the  box  of  stones,  that  we  had  a  job  to  take  a  body  out  of  the  Lu- 
natic Asylum.  The  day  was  very  wet  and  doleful-looking.  A  thick 
fog  hung  in  one  dense  cloud  from  house-tops  to  the  damp  and  greasy 
stones.  A  drizzling  rain  fell,  and  the  air  seemed  to  drill  itself  through 
your  wheezing  lungs.  Cold  and  wet,  we  arrived  at  the  island  in  a 
boat. 

"  What's  this  'sylum  built  for?"  asked  one  of  our  green  chaps. 

"  I  expect  it's  for  people  who've  lost  their  wits,"  I  replied. 

"  Are  we  going,  then,  to  bury  one  of  them  ?"  asked  he. 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  we're  just  about  putting  the  finishing  stroke  to 
that  which  the  horrors  began." 

As  I  was  screwing  down  the  lid  of  the  coffin,  I  entered  into  con- 
versation with  one  of  the  keepers,  who  told  me  the  history  of  the 
deceased.  "  He  was  a  fine  young  man,"  said  the  keeper,  "  a  young 
doctor  practising  anatomy,  and,  wanting  a  subject,  he  went  with  some 
resurrectionists  to  raise  one  somewhere  up  in  Westchester.  Not 
knowing  where  they  were  going  to,  you  may  guess  his  surprise  when 
he  found  himself  in  the  churchyard  of  his  own  native  village.  The 
horrors  now  began  to  creep  upon  him,   and  he  tried  to  persuade  them 

11 


82  AMERICAN    BOOK    OF    BEAUTY. 

to  leave  the  place,  but  '  No,  no  !'  was  the  answer,  '  not  until  we  fill 
our  bag.' 

"  It  is  a  most  singular  and  remarkable  circumstance,"  continued 
the  keeper,  "  that  these  fellows  should  have  made  a  mistake,  and  the 
first  body  they  dug  up  was  no  other  than  the  young  gentleman's  ma- 
ternal parent,  who  had  been  buried  some  seven  weeks." 

"Good  God!"  I  exclaimed,  remembering  the  circumstance  of  the 
night,  with  which  the  reader  is  acquainted  ;  "  and  what  followed  ?" 

"  From  that  moment  the  young  fellow  became  daft,"  rejoined  the 
keeper,  "  and  in  two  weeks  after  the  event  he  was  brought  here  by 
his  friends.  He  has  never  spoken  during  the  last  six  weeks.  In- 
deed, his  is  a  melancholy  end  !" 


THE    UNHAPPY    UNION. 

The  fate  of  Fanny  F.  made  a  strong  impression  upon  my  mind  I 
have  known  few  women  of  more  amiable  dispositions,  more  accom- 
plished, or  more  capable  of  rendering  a  man  of  sense  and  sentiment 
happy,  and  of  being  rendered  happy  by  him. 

Her  great  weakness  lay  in  her  having  too  little  reliance  in  her  own 
judgment,  and  being  too  pliant  to  the  importunity  of  others.  She  was 
persuaded  by  her  relations  to  marry  Mr.  Bond,  a  young  man,  who,  by 
the  death  of  an  elder  brother,  had  acquired  an  immense  fortune.  Her 
relations  assured  her  that  "  he  was  the  best  young  man  in  the  world  ;" 
and  when  she  confessed  to  them,  that  in  spite  of  his  good  qualities,  it 
was  impossible  for  her  to  meet  with  a  man  for  whom  she  could  feel 
more  indifference :  she  was  told  that  it  was  an  objection  of  no  impor- 
tance, because  she  might  come  to  like  him  more,  but  would  never  like 
him  less,  which  was  an  advantage  many  married  women  did  not 
enjoy. 


THF    FNHAPPY    UNION.  83 

Mr.  Bond  was  a  great  observer  of  decorum  and  uniformity,  and 
particularly  fond  of  whatever  was  new  As  he  had  taken  a  wife, 
which  was  quite  a  new  thing  to  him,  he  resolved  to  have  other  parts 
of  bis  establishment  as  new  ns  her.  to  please  himself. 

He  therefore  took  a  new  house,  ordered  new  furniture,  new  car- 
riages,  new    liveries,    caused    his    old   pictures,   particularly   a 
family,  by  Raphael,  to  be   new  varnished,  and  he  exchanged  an  an- 
tique statue  which  his  father  had  brought  from  Rome,  for  one  a  great 
deal  newer. 

He  rejected  the  proposal  of  having  some  old  family  jewels  to  be 
new  set  for  his  wife,  and  ordered  others  for  her,  all  spick  and  span 
new  :  in  short,  everything  he  presented  her  with,  was  new,  except  his 
ideas  :  of  these  he  had  but  a  scanty  proportion  ;  and  what  few  he  had, 
were  worn  threadbare  by  use. 

The  frequent  repetitions  of  observations  not  worth  making,  was 
rather  tiresome  to  the  most  patient  of  his  acquaintance,  but.  to  his  wTife 
became  oppressive. 

As  young  Mr.  Bond  lived  as  well,  according  to  the  phrase,  as  most 
men,  he  had  abundance  of  visiters.  His  house  was  peculiarly  conve- 
nient to  some  of  his  wife's  relations  who  were  fond  of  entertainments. 
and  to  whom  it  was  more  agreeable  to  enjoy  them  in  their  friends' 
houses,  than  in  their  own.  Poor  Fanny  was  thought  by  some  to  have 
been  made  a  sacrifice  to  this  taste  of  her  nearest  relations  ;  for  what- 
ever happiness  they  might  have  in  her  house,  she  had  none.  She 
was  miserable,  however,  in  a  different  style  to  other  unfortunate 
people  ;  not  from  want,  but  from  superabundance  :  she  had  a  profusion 
of  everything,  and  seemed  to  have  a  relish  for  nothing  There  were 
few  things  of  which  she  had  a  greater  share,  and  for  which  she  had  a 
smaller  relish,  than  her  husband's  company. 

When  first  I  knew  Fanny  F.,  she  lived  with  her  mother  in  a 
manner,  and  she  was  one  of  the  most  cheerful  girls  I  was  evi 
quainted  with. 

When  I  visited  her  after  her  marriage,  I  found  her  in  a  house  like 
a  palace,  surrounded  with  gaudy  superfluity  ;  but  she  herself  with  a 
face  of  languor  and  dejection.  At  sight  of  me,  her  features  were  en- 
livened :  I  recognised  the  countenance  of  my  old  companion  ;  but,  her 
husband  coming  in,  it  resumed  its  former  dejection.     Nothing,  to  be 


84  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTV. 

sure,  could  be  more  tcazingly  ceremonious  than  the  behavior,  or  more 
oppressively  insipid  than  the  conversation,  of  this  worthy  man.  His 
Lashed  as  often  as  he  spoke.  She  made  one  attempt  to  get  rid 
of  him,  by  putting  him  in  mind  of  an  engagement.  "  There  would  bo 
more  impropriety,"  said  he,  "  in  leaving  you  and  this  lady,  my  dear, 
than  in  breaking  the  engagement."  I  entreated  he  might  use  no  cere- 
mony.    He  said,  "  he  understood  politeness  better." 

When  I  saw  the  case  desperate,  I  rose  to  withdraw.  He  led  me 
through  several  rooms  to  exhibit  his  new-colored  pictures,  and  the 
splendor  of  the  furniture.  "  You  see,  madam,"  said  he,  addressing 
me,  "  that  your  friend  is  in  possession  of  everything  that  can  render  a 
woman  happy."  The  tears  started  into  my  poor  friend's  eyes,  and  I 
hurried  away,  that  she  might  not  see  I  had  perceived  it. 

If  I  had  not  been  so  determined  before,  this  example  would  have 
me  resolve  never  to  be  the  wife  of  a  man  I  did  not  both  love  and 
esteem  in  a  supreme  degree,  whatever  his  wealth  and  his  good  nature 
might  be. 

Unquestionably,  instances  may  be  produced  of  women  who  have 
been  rendered  unhappy  by  husbands  whom  they  both  loved  and  es- 
teemed at  the  time  of  their  marriage  ;  but  even  those  women,  though 
on  the  whole,  unfortunate,  had  enjoyment  for  a  pertain  period  at  least, 
whereas  poor  Mrs.  Bond  has  never  had  a  day  free  from  tedium  since 
that  of  her  marriage.  Her  hours,  which  formerly  danced  away  as 
lightly  as  those  of  Guido's  Aurora,  now  move  at  a  snail's  pace  along 
a  heavy,  cheerless  road.  Good  sense,  generosity,  and  spirit,  with 
humanity,  are  indispensable  requisites  in  a  husband. 


DIFFERENT    IDEAS    OF    BEAUT1. 

It  is  difficult  to  form  any  punctual  notions  of  beauty.  Qualities  of 
personal  attraction,  the  most  opposite  imaginable,  are  each  looked 
upon  as  beautiful  in  different  countries,  or  by  different  people  in  the 
same  country.  "  That  which  is  deformity  at  Paris,  may  be  beauty  at 
Pekin  !" 

"Beauty,  thou  wild  fantastic  ape. 


Who  dost  in  every  country  change  thy  shape  ; 

"black,  there  brown,  here  tawny,  and  there  white  ! " 

The  frantic  lover  sees  "  Helen's  beauty  in  an  Egyptian  brow."  The 
black  teeth,  the  painted  eyelids,  the  plucked  eyebrows,  of  the  Chinese 
fair,  have  admirers  ;  and  should  their  feet  be  largo  enough  to  walk 
upon,  their  owners  are  regarded  as  monsters  of  ugliness.  The 
Lilliputian  dame  is  the  beau  ideal  of  perfection  in  the  eyes  of  a 
northern  gallant ;  while  in  Patagonia  they  have  a  Polyphemus-standard 
of  beauty.  Some  of  the  North  American  nations  tie  four  boards  round 
the  heads  of  their  children,  and  thus  squeeze  them,  while  the  bones 
are  yet  tender,  into  a  square  form.  Some  prefer  the  form  of  a  sugar- 
loaf  ;  others  have  a  quarrel  with  the  natural  shortness  of  the  ears,  and 
therefore  from  infancy  those  are  drawn  down  upou  the  shoulders  ! 

With  the  modern  Greeks,  and  other  nations  on  the  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean,  corpulency  is  the  perfection  of  form  in  a  woman  ;  and 
those  very  attributes  which  disgust  the  western  European,  form  the 
attractions  of  an  oriental  fair.  ^  It  was  from  the  common  and  admired 
shape  of  his  countrywomen,  that  Rubens  in  his  pictures  delights  so 
much  in  a  vulgar  and  odious  plumpness :  when  this  master  was  desi- 
rous to  represent  the  "  beautiful,"  he  had  no  idea  of  beauty  under  two 
hundred  weight.     His  very  Graces  are  all  fat. 

The  hair  is  a  beautiful  ornament  of  woman,  but  it  has  always  been 
a  disputed  point  which  color  most  becomes  it.  Wc  account  red  hair 
unhandsome;         but  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth  it  found  admirers,  and 


86  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

was  in  fashion.  Mary  of  Scotland,  though  she  had  exquisite  hair  of 
her  own,  wore  red  fronts.  Cleopatra  was  red-haired  ;  and  the  Vene- 
tian ladies  at  this  day  counterfeit  yellow  hair. 

But  where  are  we  to  detect  ils  especial  source  of  power  ?  Often 
forsooth  in  a  dimple,  sometimes  beneath  the  shade  of  an  eyelid,  or 
perhaps  among  the  recesses  of  a  little  fantastic  curl !  The  fit  of  admi 
ration  seizes  us  without  warning,  and  either  disposition,  or  our  weak 
ness,  favors  the  surprise.  One  look,  one  glance,  may  fix  and  deter 
mine  us. 

Few  are  there  that  can  withstand  "  the  sly  smooth  attraction  of  a 
fair  young  face." — "  It  calls  the  cynic  from  his  tub  to  woo."  Led  by 
no  sense  as  they  are  by  the  eyes,  you  may  see  the  most  sober  men 
content  to  lock  up  their  wishes  in  the  meshes  of  a  little  auburn  hair. 
Many  could  demonstrate  to  perfection  the  eligibility  of  freedom  to 
servitude,  and  yet  are  practically  too  weak  to  resist  the  sensual  allure- 
ments of  some  pretty  casuist :  a  touch,  soft  as  the  brush  from  the 
pinions  of  the  dove,  winds  them  to  her  purpose. 

"Fair  tresses  man's  imperial  race  ensnare. 
And  beauty  draws  us  with,  a  single  hair  !" 

We  seek  not  here  to  revolt  the  enthusiasm  of  any  man,  or  to  warp 
any  natural  bias  that  may  be  felt  toward  the  daughters  of  men  ;  yet 
how  far  an  unmitigated  dotage  upon  beauty  is  reasonable,  no  one  in  his 
sober  senses  can  hesitate  to  decide.  'Tis  a  composition  we  can  all 
admire  ;  it  exists  doubtless  for  peculiar  ends  ;  but  let  it  maintain  its 
legitimate  influence,  and  be  bounded  there.  The  privilege  of  being 
first  heard,  it  is  always  likely  to  have  ;  but  must  it  always  continue  to 
take  place  of  everything,  ordinary  and  extraordinary  ? 

"For  what  admirest  thou,  what  transports  thee  so? 
An  outside  ?     Fair,  no  doubt    and  worthy  well 
Thy  cherishing,  thy  honoring,  and  thy  love  — 
Not  thy  subjection  '" 

Yet  this  influence,  vast  as  it  is,  is  but  for  a  while  ;  it  is  "  a  short 
lived  tyranny."  It  is  an  electrifier,  the  power  of  which  only  endures 
while  an  adventitious  property  abides  with  it.  The  holyday-time  of 
beauty  has  its  date,  and  'tis  the  penalty  of  nature  that  girls  must  fade 
and  wither,  as  their  grandmothers  have  done  before  them. 


DIFFERENT    IDEAS    OF    BEAUTY WOMAN'S    INFLUENCE,  ETC.         87 

The  venerable  abbey,  and  aged  oak,  are  the  more  beautiful  in  their 
decay  ;  and  many  are  the  charms  around  us,  both  of  art  and  nature, 
that  may  still  linger  and  phase.  The  breaking  wave  is  most  graceful 
at  the  moment  of  its  dissolution ;  the  sun,  when  setting,  is  still  beauti- 
ful and  glorious,  and  though  the  longest  day  must  have  its  evening, 
yet  is  the  evening  as  beautiful  as  the  morning  ;  the  light  deserts  us, 
but  it  is  to  visit  us  again  ;  the  rose  retains  after-charms  for  sense,  and 
though  it  fall  into  decay,  it  renews  its  glories  at  the  approach  of  anoth- 
er spring.  But  for  woman  there  is  no  second  May  !  "  Stat  sua  suique 
dies"  To  each  belongs  her  little  day  ;  and  time,  that  gives  new 
whiteness  to  the  swan,  gives  it  not  unto  woman  ! 

WOMAN'S     INFLUENCE. 

Like  the  olive-tree  —  said  to  fertilize  the  surrounding  soil  —  there 
are  some  few  ministering  angels  in  female  guise  among  us  all  and 
about  our  paths,  who  sweetly  serve  to  cheer  and  adorn  life.  Our 
amusements  are  insipid  unless  they  contribute  to  them ;  our  efforts  of 
noblest  ambition  feeble,  unless  they  applaud  —  its  rewards  valueless, 
unless  they  share  them  !  There  are,  too,  some  rude  spirits  in  the 
world,  whose  bolder  nature  female  influence  admirably  serves  to  refine 
and  temper  ;  and  perhaps  it  is  not  an  extreme  eulogium  of  the  poet  — 
that  without  that  influence  many  a  man  had  been  "a  brute  indeed!" 
The  concurrence  of  both  sexes  is  as  necessary  to  the  perfection  of 
our  being,  as  to  the  existence  of  it :  man  may  make  a  fine  melody,  but 
woman  is  also  required  to  make  up  harmony  ! 

SELFIS  HNE  S  S 

If,  in  the  wide  catalogue  of  human  faults,  there  be  one  more  than 
another  which  we  would  cover  with  our  hand  as  the  most  unsightly 
blot  upon  human  nature,  it  is  the  vice  of  selfishness.  There  are  faults 
that  may  be  wept  over,  but  this  is  not  one  of  them  ;  and  crimes,  spring- 
ing directly  from  the  passions,  seem  almost  venial  compared  with  that 
habitual,  undisguised  self-worship  which  is  the  offspring  of  a  mean 
soul      "Tis  a  blemish  that  stands  out  grossly  to  the  eye  —  more 

"Than  lying,  vainness,  babbling,    i  n  nkerr 
Or  any  taint  of  vice,  whose  strong  corruption 
Inherits  our  frail  blood  !" 


THE    SIREN. 

The  Sirens  of  the  World  no  more 

Hold  their  dominion  on  the  main ; 
The  Steam-King  rules  from  shore  to  shore, 
And  from  his  iron  lungs  the  roar 
Would  drown  their  Circean  strain. 

But  o'er  the  Earth  their  magic  power, 

With  three-fold  cords,  is  bound — 
For  now  to  Song,  their  ancient  dower, 
The  loving  Bird,  and  lovely  Flower, 
To  form  their  spells,  are  found. 


BIRD  OF  THE  GENTLE  WING, 

Bikd  of  the  gentle  wing,  songster  of  air, 
Home  from  thy  wandering  dost  thou  repair? 
Art  thou  deserted  then,  'wilder'd  and  lone  ? 
Come  to  my  breast  again,  beautiful  one. 
Here  in  the  rosy  beds  hover  anew ; 
Eating  the  garden-seeds,  sipping  the  dew: 
Then  in  my  bovver  the  fragrance  inhale 
Of  each  lovely  flower  that  waves  in  the  gale. 

When  the  bright  morning-star,  rising  on  high, 
Day's  early  harbinger,  shines  in  the  sky, 
Then  ?hnll  thy  numbers,  so  lovely  and  gay, 
Rouse  me  from  slumbers  to  welcome  the  day ; 
When  the  still  evening  comes,  tranquil  and  clear — 
When  the  dull  beetle  roams,  drumming  the  air — 
Then  on  the  willow-trees,  shading  the  door, 
Sing  me  thy  melodies  over  once  more. 

Thus  shall  the  moments  fly  sweetly  along, 
Timed  to  thy  minstrelsy,  cheer'd  by  thy  song ; 
Till  as  the  light  declines  far  in  the  west, 
Thou  'mid  the  trellised  vines,  hush  thee  to  rest. 
Why  did'st  thou  leave  me  in  sadness,  alone? 
Could'st  thou  so  grieve  me,  my  beautiful  one? 
Welcome,  dear  minion,  again  to  my  door, 
Here  fold  ihy  pinion,  and  wander  no  more. 


it^j 


THE    UNKNOWN    STUDENT. 

AN    HISTORICAL    SKETCH    OF    BOHEMIA. 

There  is  something  inexpressibly  fearful  in  the  history  of  the  Thirty 
Years' War  for  the  extirpation  of  protestantism  in  Germany,  Bohemia, 
and  Hungary,  under  the  second  Ferdinand.     The  horrible  bigotry  of 
this  emperor   can   scarcely  be  conceived.     In   Bohemia,   especially, 
never  in  the  world  was  there  such  a  butchery  —  a  deep,  deadly,  and 
persevering  butchery  of  the  people  !     From  end  to  end  of  the  country 
marched  great  armies,  overwhelming  every  attempt  at  resistance  by 
the  outraged  people  ;   and  in  their  train,  from  village  to  village,  and 
from  house   to  house,  went  the  Jesuits,  with  troops  of  dragoons,  to 
convert  the  survivors  to  the  holy  mother  church.     The  command  was 
to  forsake  heresy,  and  be  converted  ;  the  arguments  were  bullets,  and 
the  refusal,  death.     Hence  comes  the  phrase  of  "  dragooning  people" 
into  anything.     The  whole  land  was  one  amphitheatre  of  martyrdom. 
The  people  fought,  and  often  conquered,  but  in  vain  ;  and  then  issued 
forth  that  strange  apparition  —  the  Unknown  Student.     What  a  singu- 
lar episode  is  his  advent  in  the  history  of  this  war  !     His  real  name 
and  origin  were  unknown,  and  will  always  remain  so.     He  had  all  the 
reckless  enthusiasm  of  the  student ;  the  zeal  of  the  hero  or  the  saint ; 
and  the  eloquence  which  tingles  in  the  ears  of  wronged  men,  and  runs 
through  the  quick  nerves  like  fire.     Solemn  and  mysterious,  he  stood 
forth  in  the  hour  of  need,  like  a  spirit  from  heaven.     The  wondering 
people  gathered  round  him,  listened,  and  followed  with  shouts  to  vic- 
tory.    They  stood  in  the  field  of  Gmunden,  in  the  face  of  the  magnifi- 
cent Salzburg  Alps.     The  Unknown  Student  was  in  the  midst  of  them  ; 
and,  pointing  to  the  lake,  the  forests,  the  hills,  and  the  glittering  alpine 
summits  above  and  around  them,  he  asked  if  they  would  not  fight  for 
so  glorious  a  land,  and  for  the  simple  and  true  hearts  in  those  rocky 

fastnesses  ?     In  the  camp  of  Pappenheim  (Ferdinand's  general)  they 

12 


&0  AMERICAN    BOOK   OF    BEATJTY. 

heard  the  fiery  words  of  his  harangue  ;  they  heard  the  vows  which 
burst  forth  like  the  voice  of  the  sea  in  reply,  and  the  hymn  of  faith 
which  followed.  From  rock,  ravine,  and  forest,  rushed  forth  the  im- 
petuous peasant  thousands  ;  and  even  the  veterans  of  Pappenheim 
could  not  sustain  the  shock.  The  right  wing  scattered  and  fled  ;  the 
peasant  army,  with  the  Unknown  Student  at  their  head,  pursuing  and 
hewing  them  down.  There  was  a  wild  flight  to  the  very  gates  of 
Gmunden.  Then  came  back  the  fiery  Unknown  with  his  flushed 
thousands.  He  threw  himself  on  the  left  wing  of  Pappenheim  with 
the  fury  of  a  lion.  There  was  a  desperate  struggle  ;  the  troops  of 
Pappenheim  wavered,  victory  hung  on  the  uplifted  sword  of  the  Un- 
known Student,  when  a  ball  struck  him,  and  his  role  was  played  out. 
His  head,  hoisted  on  a  spear,  was  a  sign  of  shivering  dismay  to  his 
followers.  They  fled,  leaving  on  the  field  four  thousand  of  their 
fellows  dead  ;  Pappenheim  and  extermination  in  their  rear. 

"What  a  picture  is  that  which  the  historians  draw  of  the  horrors 
which  this  so-called  religious  war  inflicted  on  all  Germany  !  Some 
of  them  reckon  that  the  half,  and  others  that  two  thirds,  of  the  whole 
population  perished  in  it.  In  Saxony  alone,  within  two  years,  nine 
hundred  thousand  men  were  destroyed.  In  Bohemia,  at  the  time  of 
Ferdinand's  death,  before  the  last  exterminating  campaign  of  Torsten- 
son  and  Banner,  the  Swedish  generals,  the  population  was  sunk  to  a 
fourth.  Augsburg,  which  before  had  eighty  thousand  inhabitants,  had 
then  only  eighteen  thousand  ;  and  all  Germany  in  proportion.  In 
Berlin  were  only  three  hundred  burghers  left.  The  prosperity  of  the 
country  was  for  a  long  period  destroyed.  Not  only  did  hands  fail,  and 
the  workshops  lie  in  ashes,  but  the  spirit  and  diligence  of  trade  were 
transferred  to  other  lands. 

After  thirty  years  of  battles,  burnings,  murders,  and  diseases,  Ger- 
many no  longer  looked  like  itself,  and  it  is  estimated  that  ten  millions 
of  its  inhabitants  had  been  exterminated  !  The  proud  nation  was 
changed  into  a  miserable  mob  of  beggars  and  thieves.  Famishing 
peasants,  cowardly  citizens,  lewd  soldiers,  rancorous  priests,  and 
effeminate  nobles,  were  the  miserable  remains  of  the  great  race  which 
had  perished. 

The  atrocities  which  had  been  committed  in  this  war  were  unexam- 
pled. In  the  storming  of  Magdeburg,  thu  soldiers  had  amused  them- 
selves, as  a  relaxation  from  their  wholesale  horrors  perpetrated  on  the 


THE    UNKNOWN    STUDENT  91 

adults,  with  practising  tortures  on  children.     One  man  boasted  that  he 
had  tossed  twenty  babies  on  his  spear.     Others  they  roasted  alive  in 
ovens  :  and  others  they  pinned  down  in  various  modes  of  agony,  and 
pleased  themselves  with  their  cries  as  they  sat  and  ate.     Writers  of 
the  time  describe  thousands  dying  of  exhaustion  ;  numbers  as  creeping 
naked  into  corners  and  cellars,  in  the  madness  of  famine  falling  upon, 
tearing  each  other  to  pieces,  and  devouring  each  other ;  children  being 
devoured  by  parents,  and  parents  by  children  ;  many  tearing  up  bodies 
from  the  graves,  or  seeking  the  pits  where  horse-killers  threw  their 
carcasses,  for  the  carrion,  and  even  breaking  the  bones  for  the  marrow, 
after  they  were  full  of  worms  !     Thousands  of  villages  lay  in  ashes 
and,  after  the  war,  a  person  might  in  many  parts  of  Germany  go  fifp 
miles  in  almost  any  direction  without  meeting  a  single  man,  a  head  of 
cattle,  or  a  sparrow ;   while   in  another,  in  some  ruined  hamlet,  you 
might  see  a  single  old  man  and  a  child,  or  a  couple  of  old  women. 
"  Ah,  God !"  says  an  old  chronicler,  "  in  what  a  miserable  conditior 
stand  our  cities  !     Where  before  were  thousands  of  streets,  there  now 
were  not  hundreds.     The  burghers  by  thousands  had  been  chased 
into  the  water,  hunted  to  death  in  the  woods,  cut  open  and  their  hearts 
torn  out,  their  ears,  noses,  and  tongues,  cut.  off,  the  soles  of  their  feet 
opened,  straps  cut  out  of  their  backs  ;  women,  children,  and  men,  so 
shamefully  and  barbarously  used,  that  it  is  not  to  be  conceived.     How 
miserable  stand  the  little  towns,  the  open  hamlets !     There  lie  they, 
burnt,  destroyed,  so  that  neither  roof,  beam,  door,  nor  window,  is  to 
be   seen.     The   churches  ?   they  have  been  burnt,  the   bells  carried 
away,  and  the  most  holy  places   made  stables,  market-houses,  and 
worse  of — the  very  altars  being  purposely  defiled  and  heaped  with 
filth  of  all  kinds."     Whole  villages  were  filled  with  dead  bodies  of 
men,  women,   and  children,  destroyed   by  plague,   and  hunger,  with 
quantities  of  cattle  which  had  been  preyed  on  by  dogs,  wolves,  and 
vultures,  because  there  had  been  no  one  to  mourn  or  to  bury  them. 
Whole  districts,  which  had  been  highly  cultivated,  were  again  grown 
over  with  wood  ;   families  who  had  fled,  on  returning  after  the  war. 
found  trees  growing  on  their  hearths  ;  and  even  now,  it  is  said,  foun- 
dations of  villages  are  in  some  places  found  in  the  forests,  and  the 
traces  of  ploughed  lands.     It  is  the   fixed  opinion   that  to  this  day 
Germany,  in  point  of  political  freedom  and  the  progress  of  public  art 
and  wealth,  feels  the  disastrous  consequences  of  this  war. 


THE    WITCHES'   WASH-BASIN 


BT   J.    OATHEBWOOD,    M.    D. 


The  Brocken  is  one  of  the  wildest  and  highest  habitable  points  of 
the  Harz  mountains  in  Germany.  It  was  no  doubt  its  superlatively 
savage  character  which,  thousands  of  years  ago,  made  the  wild  natives 
pitch  upon  it  as  the  altar-place  of  their  gods,  and  add  there  horrors  of 
a  cruel  superstition  to  the  furies  of  the  elements.  The  blood  which 
for  ages  flowed  on  its  craggy  and  bleak  heights,  and  the  thrilling  cries 
of  human  victims,  and  the  horns  and  drums  of  the  ruthless  priests, 
have  sunk  into  the  hearts  of  the  people  hereabout  with  a  force  that 
neither  time  nor  education  has  been  able  to  eradicate.  They  believe, 
as  firmly  as  they  believe  in  their  God,  that  all  the  evil  spirits  of  the 
world  assemble  upon  the  Brocken  at  stated  times.  The  great  altar  of 
the  ancients  has  been  converted  by  them  into  "  the  Devil's  Pulpit ;" 
and  the  place  where  the  pagan  dances  were  celebrated,  and  the  hollow 
stone  where  the  priests  washed  away  the  gore  of  the  sacrifice,  have 
assumed  the  equally  characteristic  names  of  the  "  Witches'  Dance- 
Place,"  and  the  "  Witches'  Wash-Basin." 

Some  of  the  more  shrewd  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  region,  who 
"  live  by  their  wits,"  in  entertaining  the  numerous  visiters  from  all 
parts  of  the  civilized  world,  take  the  utmost  pains  to  confirm  the  vari- 
ous legends  of  the  place  ;  and  as  "  the  Brocken"  has  occupied  a  large 
space  in  countless  books  of  European  travellers,  I  can  not  refrain  from 
relating  an  anecdote,  which  accidentally  came  under  my  own  observa- 
tion, relative  to  the  wonderful  peculiarities  of  the  Witches'  Wash- 
Basin-^ 

Two  English  gentlemen — one  of  them  with  a  very  large  volume 
of  "  Travels  in  Germany"  under  his  arm  —  inquired,  on  entering  the 
Brocken  House,  for  the  Witches'  Wash-Basin,  whither  they  were  im 


the  witches'  wash-basin.  93 

mediately  conducted.     Arrived  at  it,  they  tasted  the  water  which  had 
collected  from  several  days'  rain  and  fog  in  this  scooped-out  stone,  and 
pronounced  it  insipid.     Whereupon  they  returned  again  to  the  house, 
and  were  shown  to  their  room.     Soon  after,  one  of  them,  provided  with 
a  mug  and  napkin,  returned  to  the  Witches'  Wash-Basin,  scooped  out 
the  water,  and  wiped  the   hollow  quite   dry  with  a   cloth ;   and  this 
business  beir.g  satisfactorily  finished,  returned  to  his  room.     In  pur- 
suance of  her  duty,  a  serving-maid,  who  noticed  this  proceeding,  took 
the  earliest  opportunity  to  replenish  the  hollow  stone  with  fresh  water, 
the  moment  she  could  do  so  unobserved.     After  the  gentleman  had 
had  some  coffee  and  eggs,  he  set  out  again  to  the  Witches'  Wash-Basin> 
when  he  found,  to  his  great  delight,  that  the  water  during  his  absence, 
and  in  the  brightest  atmosphere  and  sunshine,  had  again  collected! 
He  then  fetched  his  mug,  drank  some  of  this  fresh  water,  and  pro- 
nounced it  superlatively  excellont.     Once  more  he  scooped  it  out,  and 
posted  himself,  watch  in  hand,  in  order  precisely  to  determine  in  what 
time  the  basin  would  again  fill  itself.     As  soon  as  this  fact  was  known, 
some  one  rushed  out  of  the  Brocken  House  with  loud  and  fearful  cries 
toward   the   Wolken-Hiiuschen.     The    philosopher   at    the  Witches' 
Wash-Basin  seeing  this,  and  imagining  that  something  very  remarkable 
had  happened,  left  the  observation  of  the  basin  for  a  few  moments  ; 
when  the  same  maid,  who  was  watching  her  opportunity,  filled  it  a 
second  time.     On  his  return,  he  was  delighted  to  find  that  in  exactly 
ten  minutes  and  forty  seconds  the  water  had  re-collected  itself.     He 
now  ordered  a  table  and  chair,  paper,  pen,  and  ink,  to  be  brought, 
in  order  to  note  down  the  minutest  particulars  of  this  great  natural 
wonder  ;  and  while  writing  his  article,  he  protested  in  the  most  solemn 
manner  that  his  book  of  travels  should  at  least  on  this  point  be  most 
distinct  in  its  description  of  so  wonderful  a  phenomenon  !     Therefore 
he  asserted  that  this  was  the  greatest  curiosity  which  he  had  seen  in 
his  travels  in  Germany,  and  that  it  alone  was  a  sufficient  inducement 
to  an  ascent  of  the  Brocken.     He  lamented  only  that  this  remarkable 
stone  should  receive  so  little  attention  ;  it  ought,  he  suggested,  to  have 
a  little  house  built  over  it,  and  the  water  only  appropriated  to  curative 
purposes 


THE  YOUNG  LADY  AND  THE  WIFE. 


BT    THE    BDITOB. 


A  lady  should  appear  to  think  well  of  books,  rather  than  to  speak 
well  of  them ;  she  may  show  the  engaging  light  that  good  taste  and 
sensibility  always  diffuse  over  conversation  ;  she  may  give  instances 
of  great  and  affecting  passages,  because  they  show  the  fineness  of  her 
imagiii  the  goodness  of  her  heart;  but  all  criticism,  beyond 

this,  sits  awkwardly  upon  her.  She  should  know  more  than  she  dis- 
plays, because  it  gives  her  unaffected  powers  in  discourse  ;  for  the 
same  reason  that  a  man's  efforts  are  easy  and  firm,  when  his  action 
requires  not  his  full  strength.  She  should,  by  habit,  form  her  mind  to 
the  noble  and  pathetic  ;  and  she  should  have  an  acquaintance  with  thp 
fine  arts,  because  they  enrich  and  beautify  the  imagination ;  but  she 
should  carefully  keep  them  out  of  view  in  the  shape  of  learning,  and 
let  them  run  through  the  easy  vein  of  unpremeditated  thought ;  for  this 
reason,  she  should  seldom  use,  and  not  always  appear  to  understand, 
the  terms  of  art ;  the  gentlemen  will  occasionally  explain  them  to  her. 
[  knew  a  lady  of  address,  who,  when  any  term  of  art  was  mentioned, 
always  turned  to  the  gentleman  she  had  a  mind  to  compliment,  and, 
with  uncommon  grace,  asked  him  the  meaning  ;  by  this  means,  she 
gave  men  the  air  of  superiority  they  like  so  well,  while  she  held  them 
in  chains.  No  humor  can  be  more  delicate  than  this,  which  plays 
upon  the  tyrant,  who  'requires  an  acknowledgment  of  superiority  of 
sense,  as  well  as  power,  irom  the  weaker  sex ! 


THE    YOUNG    LADY    AND    THE    WIFE.  95 

A  lady  sporting  her  learning,  and  introducing  her  verses  upon  all 
occasions,  reminds  one  of  a  woman,  who  has  a  fine  hand  and  arm,  a 
pretty  foot,  or  a  beautiful  set  of  teeth,  and  who  is  not  satisfied  with 
letting  them  appear  as  nature  and  custom  authorize,  but  is  perpetually 
intruding  her  separate  perfections  into  notice.  If  a  woman  neglects 
the  duties  of  her  family  and  the  care  of  her  children  —  if  she  is  less 
amiable  as  a  wife,  mother,  or  mistress,  because  she  has  talents  or 
acquirements,  it  would  be  far  better  if  she  were  without  them  ;  and 
when  she  displays  that  she  has  more  knowledge  than  her  husband, 
she  shows,  at  least,  that  no  woman  can  have  less  sense  than  her- 
self. 

There  is  no  great  need  of  enforcing  upon  an  unmarried  lady  the  ne- 
cessity of  being  agreeable  ;  nor  is  there  any  great  art  requisite  in  a 
youthful  beauty  to  enable  her  to  please.  Nature  has  multiplied  at- 
tractions around  her.  Youth  is  in  itself  attractive.  The  freshness  of 
budding  beauty  needs  no  aid  to  set  it  off;  it  pleases  merely  because  it 
is  fresh,  and  budding,  and  beautiful.  But  it  is  for  the  married  state 
that  a  woman  needs  the  most  instruction,  and  in  which  she  should  be 
most  on  her  guard  to  maintain  her  powers  of  pleasing.  No  woman 
can  expect  to  be  to  her  husband  all  that  he  fancied  her  when  a  lover. 
Men  are  always  duped,  not  so  much  by  the  arts  of  the  sex,  as  by 
their  own  imaginations.  They  are  always  wooing  goddesses,  and 
marrying  mere  mortals.  A  woman  should,  therefore,  ascertain  what 
was  the  charm  that  rendered  her  so  fascinating  when  a  girl,  and  en- 
deavor to  keep  it  up  when  she  has  become  a  wife.  One  great  thing 
undoubtedly  was,  the  chariness  of  herself  and  her  conduct,  which  an 
unmarried  female  always  observes.  She  should  maintain  the  same 
niceness  and  reserve  in  her  person  and  habits,  and  endeavor  still  to 
preserve  a  freshness  and  delicacy  in  the  eye  of  her  husband.  She 
should  remember  that  the  province  of  a  woman  is  to  be  wooed,  not  to 
woo  ;  to  be  caressed,  not  to  caress.  Man  is  an  ungrateful  being  in 
love  ;  bounty  loses  rather  than  wins  him. 


MAY-DAY    MORNING. 

Bor.ve  on  the  April  winds  I  heard  a  joyous  strain, 

And  as  ilie  light  breeze  rose  and  (I'll, 

So,  whli  alternate  sink  and  swell, 
It  floated  o'er  the  plain. 

And  clearly  might  you  hear  the  burden  of  the  lay, 

As  with  sweet  voices,  ringing  frpe, 

There  sang  a  band  of  sisters  three, 
"Come  forth,  come  forth,  sweet  May  ! 

"The  insect  on  the  wing,  the  bird  upon  the  spray, 
The  wild-flower  bending  o'er  the  rill, 
The  tree  whose  leaves  are  folded  still, 

Wait  for  thy  step,  sweet  May." 

And  at  their  bidding  comes  a  maiden,  young  and  fair; 

Her  cheeks  are  blushing  like  the  rose, 

And  round  her  Blender  figure  flows 
Her  soft  and  golden  hair. 

A  garland  of  wild  flowers  is  wreathed  around  her  head ; 

Well  pleased,  I  meet  her  sparkling  glance, 

And  see  her  springing  step  advance 
Over' the  verdant  mead. 

And  as  her  fairy  step  touched  lightly  on  the  ground, 
The  primrose  bloomed,  the  cowslip  sprung, 
And  violets  their  odours  flung 

Upon  the  air  around. 

Then  burst  from  every  grove  a  chorus  sweet  to  hear, 

From  birds  on  every  waving  bough, 

Singing  their  sweetest  carols,  now 
That  Spring  and  May  are  here. 

And  then  from  every  cot  comes  forth  a  joyous  crowd 
Of  boys  and  girls,  who  seek  for  flowers, 
And  welcome  in  the  Spring's  first  hours 

With  songs  and  laughter  loud. 

And  still  the  sisters  three  sang  on  in  chorus  gay, 

"  Come  forth,  young  May,  with  flowrets  bound  ! 
Of  all  the  months  that  circle  round, 

We  crown  thee  Queen,  0  May !" 


r/JA".r  3 


THE     BETROTHED 


BY  A.   B    CLEVELAND,  A.  M. 


CHAPTER    I. 


THE  RIDE. 


It  is  now  nearly  fifteen  years  since  the  events  I'm  about  to  re- 
late took  place.  I  shall  not  trouble  you  with  the  details  of  my  family 
history,  or  the  chain  of  events  which  placed  me,  at  the  age  of  nine 
teen,  a  student  in  Hamilton  college,  in  the  State  of  New  York  ;  suf- 
ficient to  say  that  such  was  my  position  at  the  time  I  am  now  about 
referring  to. 

About  a  year  after  my  advent  at  college,  I  formed  a  strong  friend- 
ship with  a  young  brother  student  of  the  name  of  Campbell,  a  frank, 
kind,  and  generous  fellow.  In  truth,  a  more  perfect  young  man  I 
never  knew.  With  one  of  the  strongest  frames,  he  had  even  an  al- 
most feminine  delicacy  of  appearance,  so  nicely  proportioned  was 
each  limb  and  muscle.  With  the  spirit  of  a  lion,  his  heart  was  tender 
as  a  woman's,  and  his  features  bore  the  stamp  of  an  honorable  mind 
and  rectitude  of  principle. 

Both  of  us  were  passionately  fond  of  country  rambles,  and  it  was 
frequently  our  custom  to  ride  abroad  on  horseback,  seeking  and  find- 
ing adventures,  which  a  sober  denizen  of  a  town  might  envy. 

It  was  a  morning  in  March.  The  rough,  burly  wind  swept  huin- 
mingly  through  branch  and  through  bough,  "  piping  before  the  flowers 
like  a  bacchanal."  Heavy  dew  hung  upon  the  greensward,  glittering 
in  the  glad  sunshine,  and  the  songs  of  birds,  trilled  in  wild  deligln, 
rang  merrily  through  meadow,  copse,  and  wild.  Spring,  smiling, 
pretty  spring,  was  dancing  in  her  early,  unfolding  loveliness.  Flowers 
peeped  from  their  frosted  trance,  and  welcomed  their  mistress  as  she 

13 


.98  AMERICAN'    BOOK   OF    BEAVTY. 

pressed  each  bud  and  blossom.  The  bee  stole  from  his  almost  store  - 
less  hive,  and  recommenced  his  busy,  thrifty  task.  Things  that  love 
the  summer  hailed  the  herald  of  their  joy,  and  revelled  in  nature's 
freshly-decked  beauty. 

We  had  ridden  several  miles  from  .College  Hill,  when  we  suddenly 
came  near  to  an  Indian  mound,  so  common  in  that  part  of  the  country, 
and  were  somewhat  surprised  at  seeing  a  lady  sitting  alone  upon  it, 
attired  in  a  green  riding-habit,  and  holding  the  rein  of  a  beautiful 
white  horse,  cropping  the  grass  at  her  feet.  There  was  something 
strange  in  the  expression  of  her  features  as  we  met  her  gaze,  al- 
though more  beautiful  man's  eyes  never  rested  on.  Her  hair,  black 
as  the  raven's  wing,  was  looped  in  two  thick  braids  on  each  side  of 
her  face,  radiant  with  loveliness.  Her  dark  thick  brows  arched  above 
a  pair  of  hazel  eyes,  that  flashed  again  as  they  seemed  to  penetrate 
the  object  of  their  regard  ;  and  her  complexion  rivalled  the  half- 
blown  rose  that  she  was  carelessly  pulling  to  pieces  leaf  by  leaf,  and 
letting  them  fall  scattering  in  the  wind.  Her  figure  was  tall  and 
slight,  but  the  tight  habit  showed  a  bust  exquisitely  moulded,  and  there 
was  something  inexpressibly  strange  in  her  intense  and  almost  fiery 
glance,  Avhich  fixed  our  attention  upon  her. 

"  Who  can  she  be  ?"  exclaimed  Campbell. 

"  Heaven  knows  !"  replied  I,  "  but  there'll  be  no  difficulty  in  learn- 
ing.    I'm  only  astonished  that  we've  not  heard  of  her  before." 

"  Heard  of  her  before !"  repeated  Campbell,  involuntarily.  "  She 
can  not  reside  near,  or  we  must  have  heard  of  her,"  continued  he,  por- 
traying by  Iris  manner  an  extraordinary  interest  concerning  the  fair 
stranger. 

"  Here  comes  somebody  who  doubtless  can  inform  us,"  said  I,  see- 
ing old  Morgan,  the  well-known  purveyor  of  the  college,  approaching. 

"  Ay,"  returned  Campbell,  "  that  old  fellow  is  acquainted  with  every 
one,  from  the  minister  to  the  bell-ringer,  within  a  circle  of  twenty 
miles.  We  will  sound  him  upon  this  subject,"  continued  he,  spurring 
his  horse  toward  the  old  man. 

"  Good  morning,  gentlemen,"  said  Morgan,  taking  the  cap  from  his 
bald  and  frosted  head,  and  saluting  our  approach.  "  A  beautiful  oily 
wind  from  the  south  ;  only  a  leetle  too  much  of  it,  gentlemen." 

"  There's  a  young  lady,  dressed  in   green,   sitting  on  the  mound 


THE    BETROTHED.  99 

yonder,''  said  Campbell,  pointing  to  the  spot  where  he  kad  seen  her  ; 
"  perhaps  she  will  join  us  in  our  ride.     Do  you  know  who  she  is  ?" 

"  Know  who  she  is,  sir !"   said  Morgan,  "  that  I  do  ;  there  can  be 
only  one  of  her  sort  in  this  county." 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  I  haven't  much  time  to  talk  about  her,"  replied  he,  pulling  out  his 
watch,  "  but  I'll  tell  you  her  name.  It  is  Miss  Alice  Grey  ;  and  a 
nicer  lady  never  lived  anywhere,  although  some  folks  think  her  ways 
rather  odd,  and,  perhaps,  they  are,  seeing  that  they  are  different  to 
most  ladies.  She  lives  about  five  miles  from  here,  in  a  ver 
queer  aiding,  and  is  quite  her  own  mistress,  being  without 

and  mother  ever  since  her  childhood,  and  no  one  ever  seeing 
after  her,  except  an  old  woman,  provided  by  a  gentleman  called  her 
guardian,  I  believe.  Miss  Alice  doesn't  visit  many  of  her  neighbors  — 
folks  say  because  she  can't  sing,  play,  and  dance  like  other  young 
ladies  of  quality.  But,  Lord,  gentlemen,"  continued  Morgan,  turning 
his  eyes  to  Heaven,  "  if  you'd  only  heard  her  sing,  as  I  have  once  or 
twice  at  sunrise,  you'd  say  it  was  really  angelical.  However,  it's 
quite  true  that  she  doesn't  go  to  parties,  or  give  any,  but  keeps  herself 
to  herself,  and  seems  to  think  of  nothing  but  doing  all  the  good  she 
can  to  everybody,  everywhere.  There's  not  a  poor  person  anywhere 
round  here  that  knows  what  it  is  to  want.  Her  bounty  never  comes 
to  a  check,  but  is  always  the  same  on  a  right  scent.  And  then  her 
riding !  Cut  if  she  is  going  your  way,  you'll  have  a  sample  o'  that, 
gentlemen.  She  goes  like  a  pigeon !  Is  she  on  a  white  horse  ?"  in- 
quired he. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Campbell. 

"  Ah  !  that's  her  mare  Moonbeam  —  that  is,"  rejoined  Morgan,  "  and 
a  most  splendid  animal  she  is,  too,  only  a  little  skittish  for  the  1 

At  this  moment,  to  our  surprise,  Squire  Merton  came  su<3 
sight,  and  without  hardly  deigning  to  bow  to  us,  went  and  salute;' 
Grey.     She  thereupon  mounted  on  her  snowy  horse,  at  the  same  time 
causing  the  squire  to  laugh  immoderately  at  something  she  said  to 
him. 

"  She's  a  wonderful  favorite  of  the  squire's,"  said  Morgan  in  an 
under  tone,  baring  Ids  head  and  bowing  as  the  two  rode  toward  us. 
••  Well,  Morgan,"  said  the  young  lady,  in  one  of  the  most  musical 


AMERICAN  BOOK.  OF  BEADTV. 

voices  1  had  ever  heard,  and  looking  archly  at  the  old  man,  "  shall 
wc  have  a  pleasant  ride  to-day  ?  Is  the  ground  too  dry  or  too  wet  ? 
or  is  the  wind  from  the  frigid  north  ?  or  which  of  the  many  ills, 
:ich  blank  and  bloodless  days  are  prone,  may  be  ascribed  to 
ihis 

'  Xot  one,  I  hope,  ma'am,"  replied  Morgan,  smiling,  "and  the  mare 
I  hope  she  will  behave  herself — though,  "pon  my  word,  I  am  some- 
times afraid  of  Moonbeam  when  I  see  you  ride." 

"  Psha !"  exclaimed  the  lady,  "  she's  as  gentle  as  a  lamb — she 
knows  the  gait  of  her  mistress  ;"  and  switching  the  animal  into  a 
racer's  pace,  she  almost  flew  from  our  presence.    • 

"  There's  a  Diana !"  exclaimed  the  squire,  delighted,  and  spurring 
his  horse  after  her.  "  Hold  hard,  my  flower  !"  continued  he,  "  give 
us  time  to  overtake  you." 

In  a  few  moments  we  had  joined  the  squire  in  the  race.     High  on 

aunches  Moonbeam  reared,  as  she  fretted  and  pulled  upon  the 

checking-rein  ;  but  when  it  was  slackened,  away  she  bounded  with 

her  fair  mistress,  with  the  speed  of  a  bird,  on  the  wing  of  sudden  and 

ecstatic  freedom. 

Miss  Grey,  glancing  back,  and  occasionally  catching  a  glimpse  of 
our  party,  made  her  laugh  echo  far  and  wide,  and,  waving  her  hand, 
beckoned  to  the  squire  in  derision ;  but  on  she  still  went. 

"  That's  what  I  call  reckless  riding,"  said  the  squire,  spurring  his 
horse  to  urge  the  animal  to  a  still  greater  speed. 

A  light  laugh  came  from  the  lady  in  response,  and,  switching  Moon- 
beam, she  made  a  still  greater  distance  between  us  and  herself,  as  if 
determined  that  none  should  cope  with  her  beautiful  white  steed. 

;<  Hold  hard !"  hallooed  the  squire,  as  Miss  Alice  left,  loose  her 
horse's  head  on  the  verge  of  a  dangerous  precipice  which  he  was 
aware  we  were  approaching.  "  To  the  right,  to  the  right ;  don't  go 
near  that  side,"  said  he,  waving  his  hand,  to  beckon  her  away. 

"  By  St.  Paul !"  continued  he,  with  terror  expressed  in  his  voice 
and  features,  "  the  mare  can't  turn  there — she's  lost,  gentlemen  !" 

It  was  true  enough.  Straight  as  a  bolt  from  a  crossbow,  her  horse 
took  the  fearful  leap,  rising  in  the  air  like  a  bird  springing  for  its 
flight,  for  a  brief  moment,  and  then  over  they  went,  without  even  ring- 

i coned  hoofs. 


THE    BETHROTHED.  JQ1 

;<  My  God  !"  exclaimed  Campbell,  pale  with  fear  for  her  safety, 
"  both  horse  and  rider  must  be  dashed  to  pieces  '" 

The  squire  was  too  frightened  to  utter  a  single  word.  In  fact  he 
seemed  to  be  perfectly  paralyzed  ;  for  at  that  moment,  without  even 
looking  over  the  precipice,  he  asked  Campbell  to  ride  for  a  doctor. 

For  my  own  part  I  involuntarily  sprang  from  my  horse,  and  almost 
instantly  gained  a  winding  bine  which  commenced  a  steep  desi 
on  the  right.  It  was  so  thickly  studded  with  bushes  and  brush 
I  could  not  sec  a  yard  ahead,  and  but  for  the  fact  that  I  knew  I  was 
descending,  I  could  not  have  imagined  whether  I  was  going  right  or 
not.  For  more  than  an  hour  I  wandered  in  the  intricacies  of  'this 
crooked  path,  trying  alternately  to  regain  the  summit  of  the  hill  or  to 
find  some  definite  road  toward  the  bottom.  At  last,  as  I  turned  one 
of  its  abrupt  corners,  my  heart  leaped  to  my  throat  at  seeing,  close  to 
my  feet,  Moonbeam  stretched  dead  in  the  road.  The  sidesaddle,  with 
its  broken  pummel,  was  twisted  under  her,  the  crupper  snapped,  and 
her  bridle  dragged  from  over  her  ears. 

It  was  too  obvious  that  the  worst  had  occurred,  and  that  in  leaping 
down  the  dizzy  height  she  must  have  entailed  destruction  upon  her 
fair  mistress  as  well  as  herself. 

Expecting  to  see  the  confirmation  of  what  I  feared,  I  looked  trem- 
blingly about  the  road,  and  saw,  within  a  few  feet  of  the  horse's  head, 
a  few  drops  of  blood,  and,  upon  a  bush  close  by,  some  small  pieces 
of  green  cloth,  which  hung  on  the  thorns.  These  were  sufficient 
proofs  of  what  had  happened,  and,  almost  palsied  with  horror,  I  di- 
rected my  course  in  the  only  direction  the  unfortunate  lady  could 
have  been  borne,  should  she  have  been  discovered,  which  was  the 
one  I  had  been  pursuing — down  the  hill. 

I  had  not  gone  far,  when  I  came  into  a  fair  road,  and  presently  I 
saw  Campbell's  horse  tied  to  the  gate  of  a  farm-house.  Groans  and 
sobs  saluted  my  ear  before  I  reached  the  threshhold,  and,  as  I  was 
about  flinging  open  the  door,  Campbell,  ghastly  white,  hurried  out, 
and,  seeing  me,  exclaimed,  « My  God,  she's  killed  !"  and  rushed 
past  me. 


1  AMERICAN    BOOK    OF    BEAVTV 

CHAPTER    II. 

MI«S   GREY'S   IIISTORV — THE    STUDENT'S    FIRST   VISIT. 

Upon  entering  the -house  I  discovered  Miss  Grey  stretched  upon  a 

bed  in  an  inner  room,  surrounded  by  a  group  of  weeping  children  and 

Kin.     The  latter  was  almost  frantic  with  grief,   continuing  to 

her  hands,  beat  her  bosom,  and  between  her  sobs  and  groans 

exclaim,  "  Lord,  have  mercy  on  us  !  the  poor  young  lady  is  killed. 

Sorrow  to  all !  sorrow  to  all !" 

sight  was  truly  heart-breaking.     With  hair  dishevelled  and 

streaming  down  her  pale  features,  scratched  and  torn  in  rude  gashes, 

lay  Miss  Grey,  without  a  symptom  of  life  remaining.     Her  dress  was 

1  into  rags  and  tatters,  and  the  terrific  violence  of  the  fall  was 

portrayed  in  every  part  of  her  disfigured  person. 

"  Do  you  think  she  is  quite  dead  ?"  inquired  the  poor  woman,  as 
I  pressed  my  fingers  on  her  pulse. 

I  could  discover  no  fluttering  in  this  index  of  life,  but  gave  imme- 
diate directions  for  the  loosening  of  her  dress,  and  other  trifling  or- 
ders preparatory  to  the  doctor's  visit,  which  was  momentarily  ex- 
pected. 

As  I  continued  to  watch  anxiously  for  a  sign  of  returning  life,  the 
neighboring  farmers'  wives  stole  silently  into  the  room,  and  whispered 
their  grief  and  forebodings  one  to  the  other,  while  tears  of  sincere 
sorrow  coursed  down  their  cheeks  in  streams. 

"  She's  gone,  Mrs.  Davis,"  said  one,  choking  with  grief,  "  she's 
gone.     Our  friend's  in  heaven  !" 

"  God  be  merciful  to  her,"  added  another.  "  The  flower's  nipped 
in  the  morning  of  her  life.     Lord,  have  mercy  on  her  !" 

Some  knelt  by  the  bedside  and  prayed  fervently  for  her  restoration  ; 
others,, whose  grief  was  beyond  their  control,  wept  like  their  half- 
frightened,  half-sorrowing  children,  and  all  evinced  an  intensity  of 
grief  for  their  beautiful,  generous,  and  ill-fated  friend. 

In  about  twenty  minutes,  which  appeared  to  me  the  slowest  that 
were  ever  ticked  in  the  balance  of  time,  the  doctor  entered  the  room. 
Taking  a  glance  at  the  inanimate  lady,  he  shook  his  head  despond- 
ingly,  and  said.  "  I  fear  all  earthly  aid  is  futile." 


THE    BETROTHED.  103 

"  Say  not  so,  sir,  say  not  so  !"'  ejaculated  a  voice  in  the  deepest 
consternation.  It  was  Squire  Merton,  pushing  his  way  through  the 
throng  congregated  in  the  room. 

"  I  fear  such  to  be  the  case,  sir,"  added  the  doctor,  taking  a  case 
of  instruments  from  his  pocket.  "  But  this  room  must  be  cleared," 
added  he.  "I  can  have  no  one  present  but  those  who  are  necessary 
for  my  assistance." 

All  left  except  myself,  Campbell,  and  the  squire,  who.  although  in- 
capable, from  his  agitation,  to  render  any  assistance,  could  not  be 
persuaded  to  quit  the  apartment. 

her  gently  in  your  arms,  in  a  reclining  posture,"  said  the 
doctor  to  me. 

Quickly  running  his  fingers  over  her  limbs  and  body,  he  twisted  a 
ligament  round  her  exquisitely-moulded  arm,  and  forcing  a  lancet  into 
the  vein,  a  crimson  drop  or  two  came  reluctantly  from  the  wound ; 
but  that  was  all.  The  doctor  gave  a  look  of  entire  hopelessness,  and 
motioned  me  to  place  her  in  her  former  posture,  when,  as  I  moved  to 
do  so,  a  clear  current  trickled  from  the  opened  vein,  and,  as  her  head 
1  on  the  pillow,  a  sigh  broke  from  her  lips. 

"  Cheering  symptoms,  cheering  symptoms  !"  exclaimed  the  doctor. 
"  We  shall  save  her  !"  continued  he. 

The  squire  clutched  the  doctor's  hand  and  said,  "  A  thousand 
thanks  for  that  hop 

"  There's  not  a  limb  fractured,"  continued  the  doctor,  "  and  I  begin 
to  think  no  bone ;  but  we  shall  see  that  presently,"  added  he.  "  Thank 
God  !  there  are  sparks  of  life  remaining  !" 

"  Amen,  amen  !"  returned  the  squire  fervently. 

"  There's  a  great  crowd  outside,"  observed  Campbell,  "  scarcely 
able  to  remain  there,  such  is  their  desire  to  learn  how  the  dear  lady 
is  ;  shall  I  inform  them  of  our  hopes  ?" 

"  By  all  means,"  replied  the  squire. 

Scarcely  had  Campbell  gone  from  the  room  when  a  murmur,  like 
the  hum  of  bees,  was  heard,  and  a  suppressed  but  audible  shout  of  joy. 

"  I  should  feel,"  said  the  squire,  "  that  the  sun  had  set  for  ever, 
if  anything  took  from  us  Miss  Grey. 

"  Ah  '  indeed.  Mr.  Merton,"  added  the  doctor,  "  she's  the  sunshine 
to  many  hearts,  and  may  God  restore  her  to  them  !" 


104  AMERICAN*    BOOK   OF    BEAUTY. 

"  He  will,  sir."  returned  the  squire  confidently,  and  rising  from  the 
edge  of  the  bed  to  take  a  closer  view  of  the  sufferer's  pallid  features, 
"  He  will,  sir — I'm  sure  he  will." 

Mood  had  flowed  freely  for  some  seconds,  and  the  fluttering 
pulse,  like  a  flame  kindling  from  smothered  embers,  flickered,  beat, 
and  stopped,  and  then  throbbed  again,  as  if  impatient  of  its  newly- 
gained  action.  At  length  the  ashy  lips  separated  from  being  firmly 
fixed,  and  the  silken  lashes  of  the  eyes  gradually  became  untwined, 
until  the  eyes  once  more  were  visible.  A  faint  smile  spread  itself 
over  her  countenance  as  Miss  Grey  endeavored  to  raise,  herself,  but 
the  doctor  instantly  checked  her,  and  said,  "  Now,  gentlemen,  I  can 
dispense  with  your  presence  for  that  of  the  good  woman  of  this 
house,  if  you  will  send  her  to  me." 

The  squire  pressed  the  hand  of  the  patient,  and  then  followed  us 
from  the  room.  After  about  the  lapse  of  an  hour,  the  doctor  joined 
us,  and  said  he  had  left  his  patient  in  a  most  refreshing  sleep,  and 
that  there  was  nothing  more  serious  than  a  slight  concussion  of  the 
brain  and  some  severe  contusions. 

"  Then  you  deem  her  out  of  danger,"  said  the  squire. 

"  Out  of  all  immediate  danger,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  there  is  noth- 
ing to  make  me  anticipate  any ;  although  from  such  an  accident  we 
can  not  form  a  hasty  conclusion." 

"When  do  you  think  she  can  be  removed  home?"  asked  the  squire. 

"  I  hope  in  the  course  of  to-morrow,"  replied  the  doctor ;  "  but  I 
shall  remain  here  during  the  night,  and  tend  her  in  the  double  capacity 
of  nurse  and  surgeon." 

"  Ay,  do,  my  good  fellow,"  rejoined  the  squire,  "  and  should  any- 
thing occur,  be  sure  and  let  me  know.  By  sunrise,"  continued  the 
squire,  "  I  shall  be  here  myself." 

Taking  leave  of  the  doctor,  who  appeared  one  of  the  miost  inter- 
ested of  the  party,  we  mounted  our  horses  and  turned  their  heads  tow- 
ard home. 

"  How  did  you  find  the  poor  young  lady,"  asked  the  squire  of 
Campbell. 

"  It  happened  that  a  woodman  was  passing  below  when  the  leap 
took  place,"  said  Campbell.  "  I  was  hailed  by  him  and  directed  to  the 
spot  where  she  lay.     I  discovered  Miss  Grey  lying  in  a  bush  on  the 


THE    BETROTHED.  105 

opposite  bank,  which,  doubtless  broke  the   violence   of  the   fall,  and 

leam  in  the  middle  of  the  lane,  as  I  have  since  learned,  with 

his  neck  broken.     Without  the  loss  of  a  moment  I  hastened  to  the 

spot,  and,  raising  Miss  Grey  in  my  arms,  bore   her   instantly  to  the 

st  house." 

In  the  course  of  our- journey  home  I  put  several  questions  to  the 
squire  concerning  Miss  Grey,  and  learned  from  him  her  history. 

"  She  is  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  girls  living,"  observed  the 
squire;   "but  b  itricities   have  been,  as  they  generally  are  in 

most  people,  created  by  the  peculiarity  of  the  circumstances  in  which 
she  has  been  placed.  It  may  now  be  eighteen  years  since  her 
father  and  only  parent  came  from  the  city  of  New  York,  and  pur- 
chased a  large  farm  of  eight  hundred  acres  within  a  short  distance  of 
mine.  For  a  series  of  years,  the  house,  an  old  ruinous  place,  had 
been  untenanted,  and  I  was  much  pleased  at  the  prospect  of  a  near 
neighbor.  But  all  advances  to  become  friendly  were  rejected,  not 
only  to  me,  but  to  every  one  who  made  them.  Ill  health  and  an  irri- 
table temper,  occasioned  by  an  impaired  constitution,  made  Mr.  Grey 
avoid  all  society,  and  with  the  exception  of  his  daughter  Alice,  whom 
he  suffered  to  grow  up  as  wild  as  the  flowers  of  the  forest,  no  one, 
and  nothing,  not  even  a  dog,  was  the  sharer  of  his  melancholy,  hypo- 
chondriacal existence.  Except  on  the  very  warmest  days  in  summer, 
he  never  stirred  from  his  roof,  but  occupied  the  whole  of  his  time  in 
smoking,  and  in  watching  the  play  of  his  beautiful  self-willed  child, 
but  without  joining  in  it.  But,  notwithstanding  this  sullen  disposition, 
he  was  liberal  and  kind  to  his  farming-men,  and  was  never  known  to 
turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  calls  of  charity. 

"  Without  a  companion,  teacher,  or  instructer  of  any  kind,  Alice 
continued  to  while  away  her  hours  by  coursing  the  butterfly  or  the 
humming-bird,  and  so  shy  was  she  of  meeting  anybody,  that  no  sooner 
did  she  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  approach  of  a  stranger  than  away  she 
would  bound  with  the  (leetness  of  a  fawn.  Often  did  I  attempt  to 
waylay  the  timid,  pretty  child,  but  her  ears  and  eyes  were  as  quick  as 
those  of  a  fox,  and  I  never  could  succeed  in  stealing  within  a  short 
distance  of  her  footfall. 

"  Thus  slipped  away  some  four  years,  and  at  last  the  hermit,  as 
Mr.  Grey  was  called,  no  longer  excited  curiosity,  speculation,  and 

14 


1   i  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

wonderment.  He  pursued  the  same  monotonous  life,  and  at  last  the 
old  house  was  as  little  thought  of,  and  as  little  visited  or  inquired  about, 
as  previous  to  its  being  occupied. 

"  At  length  one  morning  brought  the  intelligence  that  Mr.  Grey  had 
suddenly  expired  in  a  fit  of  apoplexy.  Being  the  nearest  neighbor, 
and  knowing  the  lonely  situation  of  his  orphan,  Mrs.  Merton  and  my- 
self hastened  to  his  house,  and  there  found  the  child  maddened  with 
grief  at  the  bereavement  of  her  father.  We  used  all  our  powers  of 
consolation,  and,  at  last,  that,  sympathy  which  she  wanted  she  found 
in  my  good  lady,  and,  after  some  coaxing  and  persuading,  we  got  her 
to  accompany  us  home.  This  was  the  commencement  of  our  intimacy, 
which  has  la^fed  uninterruptedly  to  this  day.  And  now  I  should 
like  to  know,"  added  the  squire  proudly,  "  if  anybody  can  show  me  a 
better  Christian  or  more  lovely  girl  on  this  earth  ?  I  know,"  contin- 
ued he,  "  that  she  has  many  peculiarities  ;  among  others,  there's  the 
fire  of  old  Nick  in  her  veins.  I've  not  stjen  her  roused  more  than 
once  or  twice  in  my  life  ;  but  when  she  is — heaven  and  earth!  —  she 
can  look  a  man  of  common  courage  white.  I've  seen  a  lawyer,  who 
is  the  only  executor  and  guardian  under  the  will,  tremble  as  though 
he  had  the  ague,  when  she  has  bent  her  fiery  glance  on  him." 

"  Does  Miss  Grey  still  live  retired  and  alone,  then  ?"  inquired  I. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  squire,  "  she  has  imbibed  her  father's  taste  in 
not  visiting  or  being  visited  by  her  neighbors,  for,  besides  myself  and 
Mrs.  Merton,  no  one  ever  enters  her  house  except  her  domestics,  and 
she  will  meet  no  one  at  mine.  And  now,  gentlemen,"  added  the 
squire,  as  we  arrived  at  a  branch  of  the  road  which  led  to  his  home, 
"  you  have  the  history,  as  far  as  I  know  it,  of  Miss  Alice  Grey,  whom, 
I  fervently  trust,  we  shall  soon  see  again  in  her  wonted  health  and 
beauty." 

With  this  he  bade  us  farewell,  and  took  leave  of  us. 

"  This  lady  fair  is  a  very  strange  sort  of  character,"  observed  I  to 
Campbell,  after  Mr.  Merton  had  quitted  us. 

"  As  the  squire  says,"  replied  Campbell,  "  circumstances  have  ren- 
dered her  different  from  the  generality  of  her  sex.  But  it  would  have 
been  more  strange  if  they  had  not  done  so,  considering  the  peculiar 
way  in  which  she  has  been  treated." 

"  Total  neglect  of  her  education,  and  abstinence  from  all  social  as- 


,  THE    BETROTHED.  107 

BOciation,  be  the  passive  causes  of  her  singularities,"  re- 

turned I. 

"  Yes,"  added  Campbell,  "-bat  then  how  beautiful  she  is  !  Like  a 
wild,  uncultivated  flower,  fresh  and  blooming  in  all  its  natural  love- 
liness, unnoticed,  uncared  for,  unseen,  and  yet  superior  to  all  that  art 
can  train !     Never  Avas  there  such  captivation  in  a  woman  before." 

I  looked  at  my  friend's  face.  His  checks  were  Unshod  ;  his  eyos 
sparkled  as  he  spoke ;  and  I  saV  that  the  unfortunate  lady  had  made 
an  indelible  impression. 

On  the  following  morning  Campbell  and  myself  proceeded  on  horse- 
back, at  an  early  hour,  to  the  farm-house  where  we  had  left  Miss 
Grey,  and  bad  the  satisfaction  of  learning  that  she  had  bad  a  night  of 
tranquil  rest,  and  was  so  far  recovered  as  to  have  been  removed  to 
her  home  about  an  hour  previous  to  our  arrival.  "We  therefore  de- 
termined to  proceed  thither,  and  make  some  personal  inquiries  con- 
cerning her. 

After  keeping  a  cross-country  road  for  a  few  miles,  we  entered  a 
tall,  rusty-looking  gate,  as  directed,  and  wended  our  way  up  a  wide 
path,  flanked  by  thick  and  widely-spreading  maple-trees.  <  ^:i  emerging 
from  this  avenue,  we  came  in  sight  of  a  substantial  but  ancient-looking 
edifice,  which  had  defied  the  winter's  blast  and  summer's  sun  for 
many  a  year.  The  whole  scene  around  looked  so  old  and  so  solitary, 
that  we  gazed  in  silence  for  some  time,  previous  to  clanking  the  iron- 
headed  lion,  as  a  summons  for  our  entry. 

A  smart-dressed  Indian  girl  answered  it  readily,  and  confirmed  the 
statement  of  the  morning,  that  Miss  Grey  was  progressing  favorably. 
We  were  about  taking  our  departure  on  the  receipt  of  this  intelli- 
gence, when  Mr.  Morton  hurried  from  the  house,  and  requested  us  to 
dismount.  Nothing  loath  to  do  so,  we  gave  our  horses  to  a  servant, 
and  followed  the  squire  into  a  spacious  and  handsomely  furnished 
room. 

"  I  am  commissioned  by  Miss  Grey,"  said  he,  addressing  both  of 
us,  after  we  were  seated,  "to  express  her  deep  obligations  for  the 
great  kindness  and  attentioti  she  met  with  at  your  hands  yesterday  , 
and  am  desired  to  add,  to  you,  Mr.  Campbell,"  said  he,  laughing, 
"  that  she  will  hold  the  future  at  your  disposal,  being  satisfied  that 
she  is  indebted  to  von  for  her  life." 


108  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY.  , 

"  The  assistance  I  was  enabled  to  render  her,"  replied  Campbell, 
"  was  purely  accidental,  and,  therefore,  no  obligation  is  due  to  me." 

"  She  thinks  otherwise,"  returned  the  squire.  "  However,  I  care 
not  which  way  it  is.  In  a  short  time  we  shall  again  hear  her  merry 
laugh  and  not  a  scratch  on  her  pretty  face,  thank  God !" 

"  I  would  submit  to  have  a  scar  an  inch  deep  carved  in  my  own, 
rather  than  she  should  have  the  shadow  of  one,"  returned  Campbell. 

<:  A  gallant  declaration,"  said  the  squire,  "  and  one  which  I  shall 
not  fail  to  convey  to  the  lady." 

"  The  doctor  gives  hopes  of  a  speedy  convalescence  ?"  observed  I, 
inquiringly. 

'•  Xot  only  hopes,"  replied  the  squire,  "  but  certainty.  I  have  his 
professional  word  that  she  shall  be  out  again  in  less  than  a  month." 


CHAPTER   III. 

AN  UNEXPECTED   DEPARTURE  —  DECLARATIONS   OF   LOVE  —  A     WALK  IN  THE   GROVE  — 
BLISSFUL   MOMENTS. 

It  is  now  necessary  that  I  should  speak  of  myself,  and  refer  to 
some  past  occurrences,  which,  although  trifling  in  themselves,  are  in- 
dispensable joints  of  my  narrative. 

Soon  after  Miss  Grey's  recovery,  which  took  place  within  a  month 
of  her  receiving  the  injury,  Campbell  and  myself  became  constant 
visiters  at  her  house,  and,  to  speak  the  truth,  we  appeared  to  be  far 
from  unwelcome  ones.  Occasionally  we  used  to  meet  the  squire  and 
his  wj,fe  there,  but  no  one  else,  and  thus  a  strong  intimacy  arose  be 
tween  us. 

Immediately  that  Campbell  had  an  opportunity,  he  undisguisedly 
evinced  the  passion  which  he  had  entertained  from  the  first  moment 
of  seeing  the  beautiful  girl  whose  life  he  had  been  chiefly  instru- 
mental in  saving.  And  although  she  sometimes  received  his  atten- 
tions with  great  favor,  there  was  a  fickleness  of  manner  about  her 
which  continually  left  him  between  doubt  and  hope. 

From  a  cause  hardly  to  be  explained,  and  yet  not  difficult  to  be  con- 
ceived, this  subject  of  all-engrossing  interest  to  himself  was  never 


THE    BETROTHED  109 

mentioned  to  me,  either  directly  or  indirectly,  although  the  friendship 
existing  between  us  became  daily  stronger  than  ever.     But.  suspect- 
ing,  which  was  the  case,  that  he  had  in  myself  a  rival  in  feeling, 
although  not  so  expressed  by  word,  and  I  hoped  not  by  look  01 
ture,  Alice  was  tacitly  a  subject  never  alluded  to  by  either  of  us. 

It  may  appear  strange  that  anything  like  a  good  understanding,  or 
even  common  civility,  could  exist  between  two  men  thus  situated  ; 
but  so  it.  was  ;  and  in  the  belief  that  my  friend  was  the  favored  one, 
and  in  every  way  the  most  eligible,  I  yielded  to  his  superior  claims, 
without  the  faintest  struggle  for  precedence.  More  than  once,  in- 
deed, I  was  staggered  with  an  expression  from  the  lady's  sparkling 
eyes,  as  they  met  my  own,  bul  not  dreaming  for  a  moment  that  I  found 
an  answering  spirit  within  them,  the  sensation  was  but  like  the  fleet- 
ing sound  of  some  thrilling  chord  unexpectedly  touched. 

To  say  that  I  did  not  envy  Campbell  would  be  to  declare  m 
more  immaculate  than  every  other  man  could  be,  placed  in  such  cir- 
cumstances ;  but  to  declare  that  I  threw  in  his  way  every  facility  in 
my  power,  to  ensure  him  speedy  success,  and  that  he  was  the  con- 
stant theme  of  my  sincerest  commendation,  is  to  say  no  more  than  is 
strictly  in  accordance  with  the  truth.  The  eulogy  sounds  but  ill  from 
me,  but  1  hesitate  not  to  assert,  that,  deeming  my  own  feelings  totally 
disregarded  by  the  object  of  their  solicitude,  I  was  sufficiently  gen- 
erous to  assist,  my  friend  in  succeeding  to  win  the  prize  he  so  ardent- 
ly longed  to  call  his  own.  Little  progress,  however,  seemed  to  be 
made,  for  no  sooner  were  his  attentions  favorably  received,  than  the 
next  day,  perhaps  the  next  hour,  produced  as  opposite  a  change. 

The  squire,  who  took  as  much  interest  in  the  proceedings  as  if 
he  had  been  her  parent,  was  a  decided  advocate  to  our  cause,  \\n 
such  I  may  call  it,  and  rated  Alice  soundly  for  her  "  waywardness  and 
fickleness,"  as  he  called  her  conduct. 

So  things  went  on  for  some   two  months,  when  one  morning  I  was 
d.  at   sunrise,  by  Campbell  rushing  into  my  bedroom  in  a  state 
of  great  trepidation,  holding  an  unfolded  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  Banbury,"  said  he,  "  I've  this  moment  received  an  unwelcome 
letter  from  home,"  and  a  tear  dropped  as  he  spoke,  "the  most  so," 
continued  he,  "that  T  ever  received  in  the  course  of  my  life.  My 
mother  is  at  the  point  of  death,  and  desires  instantly  to  see  me      Will 


110  AMERICAN    BOOK    OF    BEAT TV. 

you — as  I  shall  have  made  my  arrangements  for  departing  within  a 
quarter  of  an  hour — proceed  early  to  Miss  Grey,  and,  as  I  promised 
to  be  there  before  noon,  tell  her  the  cause  of  my  unavoidable  absence  ? 
My  return  must,  of  course,  depend  upon  circumstances ;  but  you  may 
also  add  that  I  shall  take  the  earliest  opportunity  of  fulfilling  the  ap- 
pointment, and  that  a  letter  will  herald  the  keeping  of  it." 

Expressing  my  regret  at  the  cause  of  his  hasty  departure,  and  ex- 
changing friendly  grasps  of  the  hands,  with  a  promise  to  obey  his 
instructions,  we  parted. 

From  the  time  I  undertook  to  convey  Campbell's  message  to  Miss 
Grey,  I  felt  an  irresistible  inclination  to  bend  my  steps  toward  her 
house  almost  daily.  The  attraction  was  like  the  needle  to  the  mag- 
net, a  force  beyond  opposition.  Imperceptibly  our  hearts  became  en- 
twined and  our  sympathies  folded  within  each  other,  without  even  the 
knowledge  of  either.  Of  the  most  ardent  temperament,  equally  ig- 
norant and  careless  of  the  conventional  rules  of  society,  Alice  por- 
trayed, at  length,  in  every  look  and  gesture,  the  pleasure  she  expe- 
rienced in  my  undivided  society.  Early  in  the  morning  I  met  her  in 
the  fields,  brushing  the  dew  from  daisy-cups  ;  and  it  was  often  not  till 
the  nightingale  had  piped  on  the  thorn  that  we  separated. 

Thus  weeks  flew  past  without  my  hearing  a  word  from  Campbell, 
and  in  the  enjoyment  of  my  daily  intercourse  with  Alice  I  had  almost 
forgotten  him,  or,  if  remembered,  it  was  only  as  one  I  had  now  entirely 
supplanted.  Neither  did  I  reproach  myself  with  the  cause  or  the 
effect.  Indeed,  I  was  too  devoted  to  care,  perhaps,  by  what  means  I 
had  won  the  affections  of  Miss  Grey ;  but  at  the  same  time  I  was  con- 
scious of  not  using  any  treacherous  ones,  or  other  than  I  was  fully  en- 
titled to  employ. 

Thus  matters  stood,  when  a  morning's  post  brought  intelligence  of 
Campbell's  intended  return  on  the  following  day.  Then,  and  not 
till  then,  I  determined  to  propose  in  form  for  the  hand  of  Miss  Grey ; 
for,  although  my  advances  had  been  met  with  too  decided  favor  -to 
admit  of  any  doubt  as  to  the  result,  I  had  not  yet  spoken  of  that  which 
was  nearest  and  dearest  to  my  heart.  With  the  intention  of  putting 
this  resolution  in  force,  I  mounted  my  horse  and  proceeded  to  her 
residence. 

It  was  a  sultry  evening,  late  in  August.     The  distant  rumble  of 


THE    BETHROTHED.  Ill 

thunder  was  now  and  then  heard,  and  the  black,  heavy  masses  of 
clouds  rolling  heavily  from  the  west,  tinged  with  the  purple  light  of 
the  sinking  sun,  betokened  a  coming  storm  Hurrying  forward,  I 
just  managed  to  gain  the  portal  of  the  house  as  the  tempest  burst  in 
all  its  gathered  violence.  Alice,  expecting  me,  was  at  the  entrance, 
and,  as  she  took  my  proffered  arm,  to  conduct  her  within,  a  crash  of 
heaven's  artillery  roared  above  our  heads,  and  reverberated  from  bill 
to  hill,  miles  distant.  Flash  after  flash  of  the  forked  lightning  suc- 
ceeded, and  then  a  deluge  of  water  spouted  on  the  earth,  bubbling 
and  hissing  as  it  fell.  Roll  after  roll  of  the  warring  elements  suc- 
ceeded, and  the  heavy  clouds  floated  slowly  on,  spouting  forth  their 
overcharged  contents. 

"  'Tis  a  dreadful  storm,"  observed  Alice. 

"  Yes,"  replied  I,  "  but  from  its  violence  it  can  not  last." 

"  It  appears  that  extremes  can  never  last  in  anything,"  rejoined 
Alice. 

"  Such  seems  to  be  one  of  Nature's  immutable  decrees,"  returned  I. 

"  I  hope  not  —  sincerely  hope  not,"  said  Alice,  excitement  kindling 
fire  in  her  eyes.  "  I  would  not  think  so  for  ages  of  certain  happiness 
hereafter." 

"  And  why  not  ?"  I  inquired 

"  Because,"  she  added,  "  the  thought  woidd  insure  me  the  rack 
now  ;  a  refinement  of  torture  that  causes  pain  even  to  contemplate." 

"  And  yet,"  said  I,  "  we  should  never  fear  to  think  of  what  must 
be." 

"  There  I  differ  with  you,"  replied  Alice.  "  It  seems  to  me  but 
poor  philosophy  to  think  of,  and  thereby  anticipate,  many  disagreeable 
and  inevitable  certainties.  For  instance,  decrepid  age,  infirmities,  or 
premature  death  —  consequences  attendant  upon  life;  but  'twould  be 
far  from  agreeable  to  dwell  upon  these  closing  scenes  of  our  drama, 
and  foretaste  their  bitterness  previous  to  the  allotted  period." 

"  We  are  taught  otherwise,''  rejoined  I,  "  and  are  bid,  by  thinking 
of  them,  to  prepare  against  their  visitation." 

"  And  our  stern  teachers,  with  their  proselytes,  may  enjoy  the  study, 
but  it  shall  be  none  of  mine,"  returned  Alice.  "  'Tis  sufficient  occupa- 
tion for  me  to  render  the  present  as  pleasurable  as  possible  ;  the  past 
is  gone,  and  the  future  is  a  mystery  none  can  solve  " 


112  AMERICAN  POOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

"  But  we  should  be  like  mariners  at  sea,"  continued  I,  "  ignorant 
of  latitude  or  longitude,  and  without  helm  or  compass,  were  it  not 
that  experience  of  the  past  guides  us  to  the  future.  And,  in  like  man- 
ner, when  sailing  before  the  wind  buoyantly  and  joyously,  we  should 
strike  upon  some  hidden  rock  or  quicksand,  and,  when  least  expecting 
it,  become  a  hopeless  wreck." 

"  I'll  not  deny  but  that  you  have  the  best  of  the  argument,"  she  re- 
turned. "  But  still  I  might  be  able  to  puzzle  you.  However,"  con- 
tinued she,  "  as  I  might  perchance  suffer  in  your  estimation  by  con- 
fessing my  peculiar  ideas  concerning  this  sublunary  existence,  we'll 
permit  the  subject  to  drop  now,  and  for  ever." 

The  storm  by  this  time  had  abated.  The  last  rays  of  the  setting 
sun  shot  from  the  verge  of  a  frowning  cloud,  and  streamed  gladly  on 
the  saturated  ground.  The  air,  stilled  from  the  songs  of  birds  while 
the  tempest  raged,  was  now  filled  by  them.  The  cricket  chirped 
merrily  from  his  grassy  bed,  and  the  locusts  sung  in  concert. 
Creeping  things  crawled  from  their  flooded  homes,  and  their  enemies 
took 'advantage  of  their  migration.  The  crows  wheeled  and  stooped 
from  the  sheltering  trees,  and'  traversed  the  ground  with  acute  eye 
and  nimble  step,  in  pursuit  of  the  wandering  tribes.  Loaded  bees 
issued  from  the  foxglove's  secret  depths,  and  humming  their  joy  at  its 
secure  protection,  buzzed  to  their  thrifty  store. 

On  the  border  of  the  lawn,  to  the  right  of  the  house,  was  a  grove 
of  thick  maples.  So  dense  were  they,  that  hours  of  continued  rain 
would  scarcely  penetrate  to  the  serpentine  walk  which  wound  for  a 
considerable  distance  between  them.  Thither,  as  had  been -our  wont 
for  some  time,  we  proceeded  to  take  our  evening  walk. 

At  the  end  of  this  path  was  a  rude,  uncultivated  bower,  formed  of 
wild  hops  clinging  to  the  boughs  and  stems  of  the  overhanging  trees. 
The  vines  had  been,  cleared  in  the  centre  of  one  thick  clump,  and  a 
seat,  roughly  hewn  from  the  solid  trunk  of  an  oak,  was  placed  with- 
in it. 

1  this  we  rested,  and  after  a  silence  of  some  duration,  I  told 
the  tale  she  had  read  before  in  the  silent  language  of  the  heart.  Long 
and  passionately  did  I  plead  my  cause ;  never  were  words  to  me  so 
apt  before.  At  length  I  paused,  without  much  fear,  to  learn  my  doom. 
Eagerly  I  gazed  into  her  eyes,  and  as  they  were  lit  by  a  moon's  ray, 


THE    BETROTHED.  113 

stealing  between  the  leaves,  I  saw  the  tear  of  joy  and  of  love  floating 
in  them.  In  a  moment  I  snatched  her  to  my  breast,  and  the  recipro- 
cated affection  and  consent  were  murmured  in  kisses  upon  my  lips. 

All  nature  was  hushed.  The  wind  toyed  with  the  leaf  so  softly 
that  it  scarcely  flapped  in  his  gentle  breath,  and  everything  seemed 
calm  and  at  peace. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE  RETURN — MUTUAL  EXPLANATIONS — DESPAIR — SUICIDE. 

The  next  day  Campbell  returned ;  and  although  I  felt  that  the  com- 
munication I  determined  to  make  without  loss  of  time,  would  give  him 
poignant  anguish,  I  was  totally  unprepared  for  the  expression  of  in- 
tense and  indescribable  horror  and  surprise  which  was  displayed  in 
his  features  when  I  informed  him  of  my  becoming  his  successful 
rival.  He  looked  at  me  as  if  in  doubt  of  my  sanity,  or  the  correct- 
ness of  his  own  senses.  Silently  he  continued  to  gaze,  while  all  the 
color  forsook  his  cheek,  and  his  lips  became  pale  and  ashy. 

"  Yes,"  he  at  length  muttered,  "  yes,  it  seems  and  sounds  impossi- 
ble, but  'tis  true.  You  could  not — no,  your  tongue  would  refuse  to 
utter  an  untruth.  I've  heard  of  such  things  before,"  continued  he 
bitterly  ;  "  but,  my  God,  my  God !  they're  monstrous  and  incredible." 

"  Calm  yourself,"  replied  I.  "  Although  I  can  feel  for  your  disap- 
pointment, I  don't  think  there  is  sufficient  cause  for  the  astonishment 
and  anger  you  express.  Miss  Grey  was  not  affianced  to  you,  and,  if 
it  is  any  consolation,  I  may  say,  never  would  have  been." 

"  Not  affianced  !"  exclaimed  Campbell.  "  Not  affianced  !"  and  his 
amazement  increased  tenfold. 

"  No,"  rejoined  I,  "  and  I  repeat,  never  would  have  been." 

"  Give  me   your  hand,"  returned  he,   holding  out  his  own.     "  I 

wronged  you  in  thought.     Forgive  me.     You  did  not  knoiv,  then  

15 


Ill  AMERICAN    BOOK    OF    BEAUTY . 

but  it  matters  not  at  this  moment,"  and  breaking  off  thus  suddenly,  he 
hurriedly  paced  the  room,  clasping  his   hands,  and  looking  the 
picture  of  despair. 

After  a  short  time  he  became  more  composed,  but  still  was  greatly 
excited,  and  continued  to  exclaim  against  the   cruelty  and  heartless- 
of  women  in  general.     At  length  he  said — 

"  I've  a  request  to  make,  and  although  it  may  appear  unreasonable, 
and  one  decidedly  I  have  no  right  to  make,  still  I  hope  you  will  grant 
it  to  me." 

"  It  is  granted,"  replied  I,  "  before  being  made." 

"  Then  go  not  to  her  to-day,"  returned  he,  "  but  wait  until  I've  seen 
her  once  again.  I  need  scarcely  say  it  will  be  the  last  visit  that  1 
shall  pay." 

"  As  you  please,"  added  I.  "  But  saying  I  should  be  there  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  I  beg  that  you  will  explain  the  cause  of  my  ab- 
sence." 

"  I  will,"  said  he.  "  Accept  my  thanks  for  your  abstinence  from  so 
much  pleasure,"  continued  he,  smiling  sarcastically,  and  leaving  the 
room. 

I  almost  repented  of  having  complied  with  Campbell's  request,  and, 
after  he  quitted  me,  began  to  think  that  I  had  acted  unwisely  in  per- 
mitting him  to  seek  an  interview  with  Alice  alone  at  such  a  moment. 
However,  as  I  had  done  so,  I  of  course  did  not  attempt  to  recall  it. 
His  look,  as  he  departed,  struck  me  as  being  full  of  turbulent  passion, 
and  his  previous  portrayal  of  it  all  tended  to  increase  my  uneasiness 
at  his  going. 

And  here  I  will  pause  m  my  narrative  to  confess  that  which  I  be- 
lieve the  majority  of  men  entertain  in  like  circumstances,  although 
few,  perhaps,  would  acknowledge  it.  Since  the  scene  of  last  evening 
in  the  fir-grove,  Alice  had  become  to  me  an  altered  being.  The 
flower  was  bruised  and  sullied,  and  no  longer  offered  its  former  at- 
tractions. I  thought  of  her  as  of  one  that  I  must,  make  my  wife  ;  not 
as  of  one  that  I  wished  to  make  so,  if  honor  did  not  sternly  so  decree. 
Love  had  vanished,  and  duty  now  usurped  his  post.  To  save  her 
reputation  and  my  own,  I  never  thought  of  doing  other  than  perform- 
ing my  plighted  word  ;  but,  had  there  been  a  choice,  I  would  have 
retracted  it  with  more  ecstasy  than  I  had  pledged  it. 


THE    BETROTHED.  115 

Notwithstanding,  however,  this  revulsion  of  feeling,  I  became  more 
disturbed  in  mind  as  the  hours  flew  past  without  Campbell's  return- 
ing. At  length  I  could  not  restrain  the  inclination  of  seeking  him, 
conjuring  up  in  my  imagination  a  multitude  of  horrors,  crowding  upon 
each  other  like  colored  forms  in  the  kaleidoscope.  But,  just  as  I  was 
issuing  from  my  room,  I  heard  bis  step  approaching.  Never  shall  T 
forget  the  impression  his  appearance  made  upon  me.  He  reeled  tow- 
ard me  like  one  intoxicated,  with  a  face  so  distorted,  that  it  was 
scarcely  possible  to  trace  a  single  feature.  His  lower  jaw  dropped 
from  the  other,  as  in  a  corpse,  and  his  eyes  had  that  dull,  leaden  look 
which  showed  the  fire  of  life  was  nearly  extinguished.  Not,  a  tinge 
of  blood  was  in  his  cheeks,  and  he  seemed  a  dead  though  breathing 
man. 

"  Gracious  Heaven  !"  I  exclaimed,  "  what  is  the  matter  ?  are  you 
ill  ?" 

"  Very  —  I  am  very  ill,"  he  replied. 

In  a  moment  I  assisted  him  to  a  couch,  and  was  about  hurrying 
away  for  assistance,  when  he  motioned  me  to  stay. 

"  Do  not  leave  me,"  he  whispered,  "  do  not  leave  me  ;  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you,  and  but  a  short  time  left  to  say  it  in  " 

"  Let  me  at  least  send  for  medical  aid,"  I  rejoined. 

He  smiled  faintly,  and  said,  "  I'm  not  in  want  of  it.  Listen  ;  I 
have  seen  her,  and  have  learned  that  which  I  believed  before — that 
you  did  not  wrong  me  intentionally.  But  what  will  you  think,  when 
I  tell  you  that,  she  was  betrothed  to  me  by  her  own  consent,  freely 
given,  as  she  now  is  to  you  ?" 

"  What !"  exclaimed  I,  astonishment  thrilling  through  my  frame. 
"  hi  frothed  to  you  V 

"  Ay,  solemnly  betrothed   to  me!"  returned  he,  in  a  tone  not 
doubted,  "  so  help  me  Heaven  !" 

In  broken  sentences,  and  occasionally  gasping  for  breath,  Campbell 
then  recounted  to  me  the  particulars  of  his  last  meeting  with  Alice 
and  that  during  his  absence  he  had  sent  several  letters  to  her :  but, 
witli  the  exception  of  the  first,  he  had  received  no  answers  ;  and,  al- 
though this  neglect  occasioned  some  surprise,  he  supposed  indispo- 
sition, or  some  such  cause,  had  prevented  the  replies  to  his  commu- 
nications. 


116  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

"  But,"  continued  he,  "  I  now  know  loo  well  the  reason,  and  may 
God  forgive  her  broken  vow,  as  I  do  '" 

•'  If  I   had  been   acquainted  with  this,"  returned  I,   "  believe  me, 

Campbell,  neither  for  her  nor  for  any  woman  breathing  would  I  have 

he  instrument  of  injury  to  a  friend,  or  the  cause   of  a  solemn 

plighted  word  being  disregarded,  as  though  'twas  less  material  than 

the  air  which  gave  it  birth.     I  tremble  to  think  of  it." 

"  From  my  soid  I  believe  you,"  replied  he.  "  But  think  no  more 
of  it.  That  which  is  one  man's  loss  is  another's  gain.  Take  her  — 
and  may  Heaven  bless  ye  both !  Banbury,"  continued  he,  raising 
himself  on  his  elbow,  and  looking  earnestly  into  my  face,  "  it  is  a 
dying  man's  blessing,  and  one  which  emanates  from  a  heart  bearing 
no  hatred  nor  malice  toward  any  living  creature." 

"  Dying  !"  repeated  I.  "  Surely  it  is  but  the  temporary  effects  of 
excitement  and  distress  of  mind." 

"  Ah,  my  friend !"  added  he,  sorrowfully,  and  an  expression  of  pain 
convulsed  his  features,  "  both  mind  and  body  are  poisoned." 

"  What !"  I  exclaimed,  "poisoned .'"   and  I  clutched  a  bell-rope. 

"  Hush,  hush,  Banbury,"  he  returned,  "  be  not  alarmed  on  my  ac 
count.     Bring  no  one  here,  for  Heaven's  sake  '" 

"  Say,"  added  I,  "  are  you " 

"  A  suicide  .'"  replied  he,  "  certain  and  irremediable." 

I  heard  no  more.  As  quick  as  thought,  with  terror  to  urge  me,  I 
flew  for  assistance.  In  a  few  brief  moments  a  crowd  of  friends  and 
attendants  rushed  into  the  apartment,  and,  as  I  returned,  I  saw  in  the 
middle  of  the  throng  the  doctor  on  his  knees,  pressing  a  hand  upon 
Campbell's  heart.  By  his  side  were  various  instruments,  and  his  fin- 
held  a  vial  marked  "  deadly  poison." 

"  Tis  useless,"  said  he,  rising,  "  the  quantity  would  have  killed  a 
lozen  men." 

"  And  is  he  dead  ?"  inquired  I,  pressing  forward. 

"  Quite,  sir,"  was  the  reply  ;  and  I  felt  my  heart  withered  by  it. 

There  he  lay,  a  few  hours  before  in  the  exuberance  of  youth, 
strength,  and  manhood,  now  a  scorched  and  unsightly  mass.  His 
limbs  were  drawn  up  and  cramped  in  the  agonies  of  death,  and  his 
face  told  how  hard  the  struggle  had  been  in  the  forcible  separation 
between  soul  and  body. 


THE    BETROTHED.  \] 


With  surprise,  horror,  and  the  deepest  sorrow,  I  was  followed  from 
the  apartment  by  our  mutual  friends,  and  all  I  remembered  afterward 
on  this  dreadful  night  was  rinding  myself  waking  as  if  from  a  deep 
sleep,  and  the  blood  trickling  from  an  opened  vein  in  my  arm. 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE   STUDENT  VISITS   THE   BETROTHED— THE   PARTING  SCENE— CONCLUSION. 

Confused,  as  if  some  terrible  dream  had  been  racking  my  brain 
through  the  long  and  tedious  night,  I  woke  early  the  Mowing  morn- 
ing, weak  and  feverish.  I^can  scarcely  describe  my  feelings  faith- 
fully, as  the  incidents  of  the  preceding  day  flashed  with  all  their  cruel 
truth  on  my  memory.  I  began  to  suspect  that  Alice  might  be  but 
the  slave  of  passion,  and  a  thousand  revolting  images  reared  them- 
selves in  my  mind.  With  distrust,  sorrow,  anger,  and  a  mingling  of 
sensations  impossible  for  words  to  represent,  but  leaving  a  most  dis- 
ordered frame  of  mind,  I  proceeded  to  her  residence. 

Alice,  in  anticipation  of  my  visit,  was  sauntering  in  the  avenue 
some  distance  from  the  house,  and,  seeing  my  approach,  hastened 
toward  me.  Never  did  she  look  more  beautiful.  Her  long  black 
tresses  were  sweeping  down  her  shoulders  as  carelessly  and  uncon- 
fined  as  the  tendrils  of  some  wild  vine.  Her  slight  but  beautifully 
moulded  figure  was  robed  in  a  simple  white  morning  dress,  and  round 
her  waist  was  tied  a  string  of  large  jet  beads,  which  hung  to  the 
ground.  On  the  inside  of  a  close  cottage  bonnet  a  fresh-picked  rose 
was  placed,  but  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  which  looked  the  fresh- 
est, the  flower  or  the  cheek  on  which  it  rested. 

With  a  light  step  she  bounded  to  my  side,  and,  as  she  came,  a 
ringing  laugh  of  joy  and  of  love  burst  from  her  lips  as  my  welcome 
But  when  she  arrived  close  to  me,  and  saw  my  pale  and  haggard 
the  color  forsook  her  cheek,  like  transient  breath  from  a  mirror. 
Mutely  she  gazed  at  me  as  I  dismounted  from  my  horse,  and,  stag- 
gering to  a  neighboring  bench,  almost  fell  as  I  reached  it. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  clinging  to  me,  and  with  deep  emotion,  «  are 
you  ill  ?  has  anything  happened  ?     Speak,  in  the  name  of  Heaven  !' 


118  AMERICAN    BOOK    OF    BEAUTY. 

■'  Oh,  Alice  !"  I   exclaimed,  unable  to  conceal  my  mental  anguish 

an  instant  longer,  "  why  did  you  conceal  from  mc  the — the "     I 

could  say  no  more.     My  gorge  rose,  and  threatened  to  choke  me  with 
grief. 

"  I  know  what  you  would  say,"  she  relumed;  "but  upbraid. me  not. 
Hi  was  here  yesterday,  and  performed  that  part  to  perfection." 

"  But  surely  you  must  have  thought  and  known,"  continued  I,  "  how 
wrong,  how  unjustifiable  it  was  for  you  to  admit  of  my  advances  ;  and 
then  not  to  acquaint  me  with  the  secret,  but  let  it  reveal  itself  in  all 
its  bare  reality.  Indeed,  Alice,  there  is  too  much  cause  to  upbraid 
you  for  me  to  pass  it  over  in  silence." 

"  If  the  truth  be  no  justification,"  replied  she,  "  I'll  have  no  other 
advocate.  Give  me  your  patience  for  a  few  brief  moments.  From 
the  hour  I  first  saw  you,  the  germes  of  as  true  and  warm  affection 
were  planted  in  my  bosom  as  ever  sprung  from  the  heart  of  woman. 
Your  apparent  want  of  sympathy  and  coldness  of  conduct  were  con- 
stant sources  of  torment  to  me,  and  my  pride  was  daily  and  hourly 
wounded  by  the  general  indifference  of  your  demeanor.  I  confess 
admitting  occasionally  of  Mr.  Campbell's  addresses,  solely  in  the  hope 
of  creating  a  feeling  in  you  which  I  trusted  might  be  raised  from  the 
spirit  of  rivalship.  In  this  I  was  disappointed.  Nothing  would  fan 
the  spark  I  so  longed  to  see  reared  into  a  flame,  and  at  length,  tired 
with  the  ceaseless  attentions  of  the  one,  and  indignant  at  the  want  of 
them  from  the  other,  I,  in  a  moment  of  mortification,  reluctantly  per- 
mitted my  tongue  to  consent  to  that  which  my  heart  denied.  Soon 
after  this  I  discovered  my  error;  and  God  is  my  witness  how  T  nt 
once  rejoiced  and  sorrowed  at  the  discovery!  —  rejoiced  for  the  hope 
of  the  consummation  of  my  heart's  only  desire,  and  sorrowed  for  the 
hasty  barrier  I  had  raised  against  the  possession  of  it.  Still  this 
was  but  a  feather  in  the  scale  weighed  against  the  attainment  of  my 
wish,  and  I  determined  to  defy  all  censure,  all  reproach,  to  become 
your  own.  In  the  conviction  that  your  stern  sense  of  duty,  and  ob- 
servance of  the  conventional,  automaton  rules  of  society  would  at 
once  decide  your  resolution  in  the  event  of  learning  my  engagement, 
with  your  friend,  I  was  resolved,  if  possible,  not  to  let  you  know  it 
until " 

She  paused  and  hesitated  to  proceed. 


THE    BETROTHED.  119 

"  Until  no  choice  was  left  me,  you  would  say,"  returned  I. 

"  Until  you  were  equally  disposed  to  set  aside  such  a  cold,  calcu- 
lating code,"  added  she,  regarding  me  with  a  lowering  brow  and  fiery 
glance. 

"  Then  learn,"  replied  I,  "  that  I  am  as  much  disposed  now  to  obey 
the  edict  to  which  you  refer  as  I  should  have  been  in  the  first  in- 
stance, had  I  known  what  I  now  do.  You  have  deceived  me,  you 
have  deceived  yourself,  and  one  who  is  now  oblivious  of  your  wrong 
and  cruelty.  Yes,  Alice,"  continued  I,  "  he  who  loved  you  as  well 
as  I,  and  who  was  far  more  worthy  of  a  pure  requital,  is  now  a 
corpse,  a  suicide  !" 

"  Heaven  have  mercy  upon  me  !"  she  ejaculated.  "  Heaven  have 
mercy  upon  me  !"  and,  falling  on  her  knees,  she  clasped  her  hands 
and  poured  forth  a  prayer  in  an  agony  of  supplication  for  forgiveness. 

I  watched  her  with  little  less  emotion ;  and  as  I  heard  the  choking 
sobs  heaving  from  her  bosom,  and  saw  thc*tcars  streaming  down  her 
cheeks,  I  forgot  the  wrong,  and  saw  only  the  penitent. 

"  Evil  recoils  upon  itself,"  she  murmured,  as  I  proceeded  to  raise 
her  ;  but  as  my  hand  was  extended,  and  ere  it  touched  her,  she  sprung 
to  her  feet,  and  retreating  from  me,  said,  "  It  shall  never  touch  me 
more.  No  !"  and  throwing  her  hands  wildly  out,  she  uttered  a  vow, 
so  solemn  and  irrevocable,  that  I  was  silenced  by  its  aAvful  affirmation, 
never  to  become  my  wife. 

"  Your  words  were,''  she  said,  bitterly,  while  her  eyes  glared  with 
passion  like  an  infuriated  tigress,  " '  That  I  am  as  much  disposed  now 
to  obey  the  edict  to  which  you  refer,  as  I  should  have  been  in  the  first 
instance  had  I  known  ichat  I  now  do  F  Then,  in  the  name  of  Heaven, 
obey  it !"  she  exclaimed.     "  I'll  be  no  obstacle  to  its  fulfilment." 

I  endeavored  to  soothe  the  ungovernable  passion  which  possessed 
her,  but  my  words  fell  like  drops  of  water  into  a  sea  of  fire. 

"  Away,"  she  said.  "  Begone  ;  and  let  us  never  see  each  other 
more." 

"  Let  me  entreat,"  said  I. 

"  Not  if  angels  knelt  and  backed  the  petition  with  their  tears,"  in- 
terrupted she  ;  "  not  if  torments  everlasting  were  threatened,  thicker 
than  the  gentle  drops  of  rain  from  heaven !" 
'  *-■»  d  p'^p*    <re  thus  really  part  ?"  I  asked. 


120  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY 

"  Ay,  and  for  ever,"  she  replied  deliberately ;  "  for  ever." 

"  Can  you  make  no  allowance  for  my  hasty  observation  ?"  said  I 
"  Think  of  mv  deep,  deep  sorrow  for  my  friend's  lamentable  fate." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  I  should  forget  it  for  one  single  moment  of  my 
future  life  ?"  rejoined  she,  pressing  her  hands  upon  her  forehead. 
"  Is  it  not  for  ever  branded  here,  stamped  with  torture,"  added  she, 
between  her  clenched  teeth,  "  dissolving  all  superficial  thought,  and 
leaving  nothing  but  the  bared  truth — a  hideous  skeleton.  Yes,"  con- 
tinued she,  "  I  see  in  myself  a  guilty  wretch,  and  in  you "  she 

paused,  and  coming  near  me,  shook  her  head  reproachfully,  less  in 
anger  than  in  sorrow." 

The  words  found  an  echo  in  my  heart.  I  could  make  no  reply. 
Instead  of  the  accuser,  I  felt  the  accused 

"  Farewell !"  she  added,  "  farewell !  and  as  we  were,  so  let  us 
henceforth  be  —  strangers." 

I  sprung  forward  to  catch  her  in  my  embrace,  impelled  by  uncon- 
trollable impulse. 

"  No,  no,  no  !  remember,"  said  she,  pointing  to  the  clear,  cloudless 
sky,  "  I  have  that  registered  there,  which  truth  shall  seal.  Once 
more,  farewell !"  and  turning,  she  left  me,  with  one  long,  sad  look. 

♦         ########### 

Years  and  years  flew  past  without  my  hearing  anything  of  Alice 
Grey,  for  soon  after  this  sad  occurrence  I  left  college,  and  sought  a 
forgetfulness  of  it  in  other  and  distant  lands,  where  I  resided  amid 
extravagant  and  dissolute  scenes  for  many  years.  I  returned  to  my 
native  shores  at  the  request  of  a  favorite  uncle,  who  promised  me 
fortune  and  fame,  would  I  but  embark  with  him  in  mercantile  pursuits. 

I  now  remembered  the  painful  events  which^)ccurred  on  my  quit- 
ting college,  only  as  a  dream,  and  I  had  not  the  least  desire  to  visit 
the  scene  of  them.  It  happened,  however,  that  my  business  called 
me  to  Buffalo.  It  was  just  after  the  new  State  Asylum  at  Utica  had 
been  put  in  operation,  and  when  passing  through  that  beautiful  town, 
I  was  persuaded  by  a  friend  to  visit  this  institution  for  lunatics.  I 
had  scarcely  entered  the  building,  when,  good  heavens  !  could  it  be 
possible  ?  my  eye  caught  the  form  and  features  of  the  once  lovely 
Miss  Grey !  There,  indeed,  she  stood,  twining  her  long  and  wasted 
fingers  within  those  of  a  sickly-looking  child,  whose  constant  un- 


DANGLERS.  121 

meaning  smile  and  vacant  stare  told  the  brain's  disease.  She  was  so 
changed  that  I  even  hesitated  to  believe  it  was  once  the  young,  the 
gay,  the  beautiful  Alice.  But  it  was  too  true.  There  she  was,  the 
demented  mother  of  an  idiot  child,  old,  wrinkled,  and  withered  — 
the  wreck  of  passion  and  the  ruin  of  beauty. 

I   turned  away   horror-stricken,  and  from  that  hour  to  this  I  have 
sought  to  know  nothing  more  of  her  fate. 


DANGLERS. 

"  By  the  by,  do  you  know  who  that  genteel-looking  young  man  is, 
that  I  see  constantly  hanging  about  the  Wilsons  1  Go  where  I 
will,  I  am  sure  to  see  him  along  with  one  or  other  of  the  young 
ladies.  Last  Wednesday  night,  having  occasion  to  call  on  Mrs.  Wil- 
son about  the  character  of  a  servant,  whom  did  I  see  stuck  up  in  a 
corner  of  the  sofa  but  this  same  young  gentleman,  discussing  with 
Miss  Jessy,  if  I  understood  it  rightly,  the  merits  of  a  patent  thread 
paper.  I  next  night  saw  him  with  them  in  a  box  at  the  theatre,  and 
I  am  positive  that  he  is  ten  times  oftener  in  their  seat  at  church  than 
in  his  own,  wherever  that  may  be." 

Such  is  the  sort  of  question  that  some  well-meaning,  but  curious 
female  controller-general  of  society  puts,  on  observing  a  dangler  in 
high  practice.  The  danglers  are  a  class  of  young  men  belonging  to 
some  idle  profession,  who  are  never  happy  unless  they  are  on  terms 
of  intimate  acquaintance  in  families  having  one  or  two  daughters  come 
to  a  marriageable  time  of  life.  Having  effected  an  introduction,  it 
is  impossible  to  tell  how — most  likely  at  a  soiree,  where  he  made 
quite  a  sensation  by  dancing  the  Polka  in  a  first-rate  style,  or  through 
means  of  another  dangler  or  friend  of  the  family,  or,  what  is  more 
likely  still,  through  an  acquaintanceship  with  the  brother  of  the  young 
ladies,  picked  up  at  a  fencing-school  —  the  dangler  falls  into  a  habit 

16 


122  AMERICAN     COOK    OF    BEAUTY. 

of  dropping  in  at  all  seasons,  and,  in  a  short  time,  from  being  a  good- 
looking  young  man,  and   of  tolerable  address,  becomes  a  privi 

i  in  the  household.  If  there  be  any  dinner,  te*a,  or  supper- 
parly,  Mr.  Brown  is  sure  to  be  put  down  first  on  the  list,  or  is  there  of 
his  own  accord ;  and,  from  his  frequent  appearances  on  such  occa- 
sions, a  certain  kind  of  understanding  as  to  his  motives  prevails  among 
all  descriptions  of  regular  visiters.  The  dangler  thus  makes  himself 
a  species  of  necessary  evil  in  the  family.  He  brings  all  the  floating 
small-talk  of  the  town  to  the  young  ladies  ;  speaks  to  them  about 
concerts,  play-actors,  and  charity-sermons  ;  helps  the  tea,  and  has  a 
habit  of  saying  "  allow  me,"  and  making  a  movement  as  if  to  rise, 
when  anything  is  to  be  lifted ;  converses  on  the  prevailing  color  in 
the  new  winter  dresses,  and  leads  the  laugh  when  anything  droll  is 
mentioned.  When  Miss  Jessy  and  Miss  Sally  go  out  for  a  walk,  or 
on  any  necessary  piece  of  duty,  the  dangler  has  a  knack  of  hitting 
the  exact  time  they  are  to  leave  the  house,  and,  with  an  inclination, 
offers  his  arm,  but  always  has  a  tendency  to  be  on  the  side  next  Miss 
Jessy.  At  church,  the  dangler  acts  the  obliging  young  man,  being 
equally  ready  to  carry  a  parasol,  or  look  out  the  place  in  the  Bible  or 
Psalm-book.  The  dangler,  in  short,  is  ubiquitous  in  his  services,  and 
so,  as  a  matter  of  course,  all  the  world  put  him  down  as  a  favored 
suiter  of  one  or  the  other  of  the  young  ladies. 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,"  says  Mrs.  Gavine,  to  her  friend  Mrs. 
Brotherston<3,  "  it  is  a  set  thing  that  young  Brown  is  in  pursuit  of 
Jessy  Wilson,  and  there's  no  doubt  he'll  get  her  too.  I'm  sure  they've 
been  long  enough  in  making  it  up  at  any  rate  ;  for,  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  he  used  to  call  when  they  lived  in  George  street,  and 
that  is  more  than  three  years  since." 

"  Indeed,"  replies  the  party  addressed,  "  I'm  not  so  sure  about  it 
as  all  that.  I  have  always  had  my  own  opinion  that  he  is  one  of 
those  flirting  fellows  that  never  know  their  own  mind  for  three  min- 
utes at  a  time,  and,  whatever  they  do,  take  always  good  care  never  to 
come  to  the  point.  However,  I  dare  say  he  gets  enough  of  encour- 
agement, and  they  may  take  their  own  way  of  it,  for  me.  Had  the 
father  not  been  a  poor  silly  man,  he  would  have  settled  the  matter 
long  ere  this." 

There  are  strong  grounds  for  belief  that  Mrs.   Brotherstone  is  not 


DANGLERS.  123 

far  from  the  truth  in  her  opinion  of  our  hero,  Mr.  Brown.  Under  the 
indistinct  idea  that  he  is  in  love  with  a  young  lady,  when  he  is  no 
such  thing,  the  dangling  genteel  young  man  haunts  her  wherever  she 
goes,  gets  recognised  by  her  father  or  mother  as  a  suitable  enough 
match  for  their  daughter,  flirts  about  her  for  a  year  or  two,  without, 
be  it  remarked,  ever  having  spoken  a  word  to  her  of  personal  esteem 
or  attachment,  yet  insinuated  himself  so  far  into  her  good  graces  by 
his  actions  and  looks — his  everlasting  dangling  —  that  he  knows  he 
could  get  her  at  any  time  for  the  asking  ;  then,  behold,  when  he  sees 
he  can  secure  another  with  a  better  fortune,  or,  in  his  eyes,  some 
other  great  recommendation,  he  leaves  the  long  assiduously-courted 
young  lady  to  pine  over  her  solitary  fate.  How  often  is  this  the  case 
in  the  middle  ranks  of  life !  How  many  hundreds  and  thousands  of 
amiable  young  women  have  had  cause  to  rue  that  they  ever  gave  any 
permanent  encouragement  to  a  dangler.  Such  a  character  acts  like  a 
blight  on  the  fate  of  a  young  lady  ;  for  he  not  only  consumes  her  val- 
uable time,  and  distracts  her  feelings,  but  prevents  real  and  modest 
admirers  from  making  advances  ;  wherefore,  in  the  end,  she  has,  per- 
haps, to  marry  a  person  of  inferior  respectability,  or  remain  on  the 
list  of  old  maids.  Such  a  result  forms  the  worst  feature  in  the  case 
of  the  dangler.  Heedless  of  the  havoc  he  is  committing  in  the  fate 
of  the  young  lady  —  not  reflecting  that  what  has  been  simple  killing 
of  time  or  amusement  to  him  has  been  protracted  torture  to  a  sensitive 
female,  who,  probably,  all  the  while  pardons  him,  from  the  impression 
that  he  is  only  waiting  till  he  can  conveniently  make  a  declaration, 
he  either  starts  off  after  a  new  object,  or  grows  cool  in  his  attentions, 
after  the  bloom  of  her  youth  is  fled.  Yet,  we  have  known  danglers 
deservedly  caught  in  their  own  cunning  devices.  The  eldest  daughter 
of  the  family,  to  whom  he  has  long  been  in  his  own  opinion  attached, 
is  carried  off,  as  it  were,  out  of  his  very  grasp,  when  he  thought  him- 
self most  secure  ;  and  he  probably  enters  into  a  campaign  of  dangling 
with  the  younger ;  but  she  is  also  married  before  he  has  time  to  make 
up  his  resolution,  and  he  is  left  in  a  queerish,  desolate  condition.  In 
such  cases,  we  have  known  the  dangler  of  half-a-dozen  years  pretend 
to  feel  hurt,  and  actually  "  wonder"  how  Miss  Wilson,  or  Miss  Any- 
body-else "  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  off,  for  it  was  well  known  to  her,  that 
nobody  felt  so  much  attached  to  her  as  himself.'''     Such  is  the  drivel 


124  AMERICAN    BOOK   OF    BEAUTY. 

of  a  disconcerted  dangler.  He  breaks  his  acquaintance  with  the 
family  "  which  has  used  him  so  very  ill,"  and  looks  about  him  for  means 
of  revenge  in  marrying  some  "  extraordinary  great  match."  He  pro- 
cures an  acquaintance  with  the  accomplished  and  elegant  Miss 
Blackitt,  who  lives  with  her  aunt  in  the  upper  part  of  Broadway,  and 
who,  it  is  currently  reported,  has  fifty  thousand  dollars  at  her  own  dis- 
posal, besides  expectations  from  her  uncle,  an  eminent  Broad  street 
merchant.  The  aunt,  who  is  a  knowing  hand  in  the  science  of  dang- 
ling, encourages  his  addresses,  but  takes  care  not  to  be  long  in  fixing 
him,  by  asking  him  with  an  air,  (some  day  about  twenty  minutes  past 
four  o'clock,  when  he  had  called  in  a  pair  of  washed  gloves  to  escort 
the  young  lady  to  the  exhibition,)  "  what  his  intentions  are  regarding 
her  niece."  Of  course,  Mr.  Brown  protests  —  rather  in  a  flutter,  how- 
ever, that  his  "  intentions"  are  beyond  all  measure  "  honorable."  The 
marriage  in  such  a  case  soon  ensues,  and  the  dangler  is  beautifully 
noosed  with  a  girl,  who,  according  to  the  report  of  the  controllers- 
general  of  the  neighborhood,  "  can  not  put  on  her  own  clothes,"  "  who 
has  all  kinds  of  bad  habits,"  not  a  penny  of  fortune,  no  expectation 
from  her  uncle,  the  merchant,  who  is  on  the  point  of  marrying  him- 
self—  and,  consequently,  to  sum  up  the  story,  makes  the  dangler  mis- 
erable for  all  the  rest  of  his  life. 


THE    RAT    TOWER. 

The  memory  of  Hatto,  archbishop  of  Mainz,  is  still  execrated  on 
the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  eight  or  nine  centuries  after  his  death ;  and, 
to  this  day,  when  a  cloud  or  fog  is  seen  resting  on  the  Mausthurm, 
the  peasants  point  to  it,  in  fear  and  detestation,  as  containing  the 
spirit  of  the  savage  priest.  Hatto  was  a  man  without  a  heart.  He 
delighted  in  cruelty,  and  was  pleased  with  all  sorts  of  horrors,  except 
the  fictitious.  He  would  have  made  an  excellent  ogre,  only  that  he 
wanted  the  peculiarity  of  appetite. 


THE    RAT    TOWER.  125 

A  famine  visited  the  land  which  was  under  the  spiritual  and  pas- 
toral care  of  this  good  shepherd.  The  people  died  in  thousands  ;  in- 
fants perished  of  hunger  at  the  breast,  and  mothers  of  hunger  and 
self-detestation  that  their  fountains  of  nature  refused  to  supply  their 
offspring  with  the  means  of  life.  The  archbishop  feasted  and  fat- 
tened. He  prayed  to  God,  however,  to  remove  his  curse-  from  the 
land  ;  he  anathematized  the  foul  fiend  with  bell,  book,  and  candle  ;  nay, 
he  fasted  an  entire  day  on  stewed  carp  and  smoked  salmon,  drinking 
naught  save  johannisberger,  rudesheimer,  and  hochheimer.  But  he 
gave  nothing  to  the  starving  poor — not  a  fragment,  not  a  crumb. 

Then  the  people  waxed  wroth.  They  looked  with  their  hungry 
ryes  into  one  another's  faces,  and  said,  "  Let  us  go  unto  the  man  of 
Goil  ;  let  us  go  up  in  a  body,  and  show  him  our  skin  and  bones, 
and  cry  altogether  with  a  loud  voice,  '  help  !  —  help  !'  "  and  they  went 
up  ;  and  their  voices,  although  thin  and  weak  and  broken,  were  able, 
because  of  the  number,  to  reach  the  archbishop's  ears,  as  he  sat 
drinking  the  pale  wine  and  the  red  at  his  dessert. 

"  ^That  is  this  V  cried  the  archbishop  ;  "  what  rascally  concert 
have  we  now  ?" 

"  It  is  the  people,"  answered  his  men  ;  "they  are  hungry,  and  they 
cry  for  food." 

"  Let  them  work,  varlets,"  said  the  archbishop,  growing  red  with 
indignation. 

"  They  have  no  work,  and  are  too  feeble  to  work." 

"Too  feeble  to  work  !  Go  you  now!  —  what  is  that?  Mercy  on 
us,  these  are  feeble  lungs,  indeed !  Send  them  packing,  I  say  !  Off 
with  them  —  troop,  trundle." 

But  the  people  would  not  move,  for  they  were  fierce  in  their  hun- 
ger, and  valiant  in  their  despair ;  and  they  continued  to  cry  with  one 
voice,  "  Oh,  man  of  God  !  help  !  help  !" 

Then  the  soul  of  the  archbishop  was  stirred  with  wrath  and  fiery 
indignation,  and  he  commanded  his  archers  to  lay  hold  of  the  rebels, 
and  shut  them  up  in  an  empty  barn  near  the  palace.  And,  when  this 
was  done,  he  sat  quaffing  the  pale  wine  and  the  red,  thinking  of  the 
insolence  of  the  base  populace,  till  the  veins  of  his  head  swelled 
with  fury. 


126  AMERICAN  BOOK  OF  BEAUTY. 

• 

"  Go,"  said  he  to  his  men,  starting  suddenly  up  from  the  table, 
"  go  and  set  fire  to  the  barn." 

And  his  men  did  so. 

And  the  archbishop  stood  at  the  window,  waiting  impatiently  ;  but 
whrn  he  saw  the  flames  burst  through  the  roof  of  the  barn,  and 
heard  the  screams  of  the  wretches  within,  he  clapped  his  hands  and 
cried  out  joyfully  :     "  It  burns  !  it  burns !     Hark,  how  the  rats  squeak .'" 

That  night  the  archbishop's  men  were  awakened  by  their  master, 
and  ran  to  his  chamber.  "  My  lord,"  said  they,  "  what  is  the  mat- 
ter ?" 

"  It  is  the  rats,"  answered  he  ;  "  they  will  not  let  me  alone."  And 
they  saw  that  the  counterpane  of  precious  fur  was  indeed  all  gnawed 
to  pieces.  Then  the  men  waited  and  set  traps  and  dogs,  and  slew 
the  rats  in  great  numbers  ;  but  the  faster  'hey  slew,  the  faster  they 
grew.  And  the  archbishop  had  no  rest,  neither  night  nor  day.  At 
his  meals,  the  odious  vermin  jumped  in  his  porringer,  or  upset  his 
drinking-cup  ;  and  if  he  slept,  (which  fear  allowed  him  but  rarely  to 
do,)  he  was  sure  to  be  awakened  by  a  rat  tearing  at  his  throat. 

The  archbishop,  at  last,  determined  not  only  to  leave  a  palace  in- 
fested by  such  importunate  guests,  but  to  choose  a  lodging  in  which 
there  could  be  no  possibility  of  a  repetition  of  the  nuisance.  He  ac- 
cordingly caused  a  tower  to  be  built  amid  the  rushing  waters  of  the 
Bingerloeh,  and  when  it  was  ready,  set  out  with  a  jovful  heart  to 
shut  himself  up  in  his  new  abode. 

He  embarked  at  Bingen,  and  on  arriving  at  the  tower,  sprang  eager- 
ly to  land.  That  day  he  feasted  in  safety.  He  retired  early,  and 
commanding  that  no  one  should  disturb  or  come  near  him  on  pain  ot 
death,  he  prepared  to  enjoy,  at  least,  the  luxury  of  an  untroubled 
sleep.  He  had  already  undressed ;  but,  in  the  fulness  of  his  exulta- 
tion, would  scan  with  his  own  eyes  the  space  of  waters  between  him 
and  the  land,  which  was  the  only  tenantable  inheritance  of  his  foes. 

As  he  looked  out  of  his  window,  he  saw  a  motion  on  the  dark 
and  troubled  waters  beneath,  which  was  unlike  the  motion  of  the 
waves.  The  whole  surface  seemed  instinct  with  life  ;  and  on  the 
opposite  shore  a  plashing  sound,  as  of  hundreds  and  thousands  of 
stones  or  other  small  bodies,  dropped  from  the  rocks  into  the  river, 
rose  above  the  din  of  the   waters.     Struck  with  a  sudden  terror,  yet 


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